Living With Mrs Pierce
by leilamiranda
Summary: After estranging herself from her hometown, family, and friends for a long time, Brittany got asked a rather odd and unexpected proposal by her recently deceased sister. Now all she had to do is hold her breath and stop her heart from beating as she tries to coexist with her sister's wife, the same woman who had unwittingly caused her to flee in the first place.
1. Prologue

Title: Living With Mrs Pierce

Pairing: Brittany/Santana

Rating: M for future chapters

Summary: Two jaded individuals find love in the most unexpected place. Warning: Character death

Disclaimer: I would own Glee and all of the characters. For now, I'll stick to fan fiction.

A/N: I got bored waiting for my fave stories to update and downloads to finish so. I hate that the title is a dead, sorry for the pun, give-away to the whole plot of the story, but, oh well. At least, you know what you're getting yourself into. As they say, it's not about the destination, it's about the journey.

**Prologue**

_03:05 am. Lima, Ohio._

A loud piercing wail echoes through the corridors of the usually eerily silent halls of the Lima General Hospital. The nurses lounging and talking in the nurse's station were suddenly startled by a beeping sound in the monitor. Code red in Room 305. A few nurses rushed into the room, two of them trying to pry the still wailing woman from the patient. She was small in stature and should have been easily handled by just one man but they had been in this job for so long and they knew they shouldn't underestimate the will of a person to be close and give comfort to their loved one especially during these times.

"Ma'am, please. Let us try to do our job," one of the male nurses trying to subdue the struggling woman pleaded.

The woman winced at his words. _Job._ The rational part of her knew that this is merely a job for these people and she shouldn't take offence in them thinking so. She should know, she had lived with one of them for eighteen years. But it's funny how your perspective changes when it comes to your loved ones. She liked to think that the people who take care of her wife actually cares for her like she, herself, cares for her wife. As if that would make a huge difference. As if that extra love and care is the deciding factor between life and death. She was almost sure that if she had been a nurse _and_ a doctor, she would have saved her wife from this terrible disease. She suddenly regretted not going through medical school as she was set to do as a child, one she was so sure she would never regret on not doing.

"Well, there isn't a _job_ for you to do now, is there?" She bitterly mocks back with as much venom she could muster at that moment. She tried to be spiteful to the nurses, she really did but the reality dawning on her from her own words hurt her more than it did them.

The man winced, realizing he had said the wrong thing to try and pacify the woman. But despite the anger in her voice, he could only see the endless sadness and agony in her eyes. The woman was now less frantic in her struggling as if all her fire and energy from before was dowsed down by a truck load of ice that is her words.

"I just want to be with her," she whispered.

Before the nurse could appease her that they would do everything they can to try and resuscitate her wife, the doctor finally came into the doors, eyes still heavy with sleep. The men had finally succeeded in accompanying the woman out of the room. They more like dragged her than escorted her for she had suddenly gone limp in their arms and without their support, they were sure the woman would fall in a heap on the sterile floor. She was no longer struggling, no longer wailing her lungs out. Her desperate bouts of tears from before were reduced to mere unconscious sobs.

She had never grieved this hard before. But it's as if her mind and body knew exactly what to do without her knowledge. She was unconsciously building her walls up, up, and up to shield her from reality. From the words she was sure the doctor would say when she comes through that door. From the world where her wife is no longer there. She had numbed herself from the hurt, pain, and anguish she was sure she would feel the rest of her life. "_Though _death do us part," she whispered without thought to the cold artificial air of the hospital corridors.

The doctor burst through the doors again, still with sombre eyes. She wasn't sure if it was still from her lack of sleep or from the spiel she had to give to the patients' grieving loved ones. She was only there for formalities, she knew. To make the news official. But she maintained eye contact until she finally tells her what she already knew but still secretly tried to block out.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Pierce," the doctor finally says.

"No, you're not. You're just doing your job and now it's done," she whispered back. But unlike before, there were no bitterness and sadness in her voice. It was just a fact. A fact stated in an eerily lifeless voice by an eerily lifeless grieving woman. And she indeed felt that she, herself, died. Or at least, a part of her died with her lover.

The doctor let go of her words and continued to tell her the details of her wife's complications that led to her death. But she shut them all off.

She knew what she would say to her. She knew them all too well. They had been going in and out of the hospital for almost a year. A few times, she had let herself fully believe she would survive this. That _they_ would survive this. But as her wife's health slowly started to wane even with the thousands of prescription drugs and the chemotherapies and radiation therapies she had taken her to, that hope that kept her staying sane all those months had started to diminish as well.

They had been preparing for this day. Well, it's more of her wife preparing her and their kids for this day. She had blocked all her words out when her wife starts talking about finances, and lawyers, and burials, and getting a new wife by keeping busy with their children. And what adorable children they have.

Isabella is four years old and is a perfect replica of her as a kid. She had dark brown eyes and curls and pouty lips. But the nose-the nose is so like her mama's. Samuel, on the other hand, has golden ruffled hair like her mama. It always reminds her of her wife's during the early mornings or after their midnight canoodling before she had to shave them off. He is two years younger than Isabella but their laughter and innocent, sometimes incoherent, ramblings had filled their home with so much joy despite the somberness they tried not to acknowledge that seeps into their home behind closed bathroom and bedroom doors especially in the last couple of months.

Yes, it is much easier to talk about how gorgeous and perfect their kids are than...

"Mrs Pierce?" She was suddenly brought back to reality by a nudge on her arm. "I asked if there is someone else you'd like to call?"

Still with an addled mind, she simply nodded. She found herself sitting in the lounge without really knowing how she got there. The doctor apologized again, and left saying she'll be in her office if she wanted to see her or when her other family members arrived but she just ignored her and got her phone and dialed the second number in her list next to her wife's. She needn't wait a long time before the other woman finally picks up as if she had been expecting the call. She knew however that she hadn't really slept a wink since the day her wife was diagnosed with Burkitt's lymphoma. None of them had.

"Mom," she tried as she waited for her brain to cooperate and tell her exactly what the doctor had told her, what had exactly happened. But what exactly happened was… "It's over." She can't bring herself to say the D-word. Somehow, it hadn't really crossed her mind. At least, not really.

She heard muffled sobs on the other line. She knew Elena Pierce was trying to hold back her emotions for her sake and for the sake of her grandchildren who were sleeping over. Finally, she reined everything in, and asked her, "Are you okay?"

"Are the kids sleeping alright?" She asked instead. She really didn't want to answer that and she was already dreading to be asked that same question for the next month or so.

"Yes, they slept as soon as we got here," she sighed. She was thankful Elena didn't insist on asking her to share her feelings. That's one of the qualities she loved most in her mother-in-law. Once, when she and her wife fought, she hadn't asked who was at fault, nor did she take her daughter's side like her own mother would probably have done. She just understandingly took their children in as she looked for her wife who had stormed off.

There was silence in the line, still lost in their own loss: the first, of her wife; and the latter, of her daughter.

"I should come there to… You shouldn't be alone during this hard time," Elena finally said.

She knew her mother-in-law fully meant it. She had never doubted that woman. But she also knew she wanted to be there as soon as possible for her first born. And how could anyone argue with that, really?

"I'll tell Martin that he should stay with the kids and just leave in the morning," she explained further, as if hearing her questions.

"Thank you," she simply said. They both knew it was not only for this day but for all the times Elena had been there for the couple. She was like a mother even to her. She had been since they were merely teenage kids discovering themselves and fooling around.

"And Santana…" Santana waited as Elena find her words. She knew what was coming: a huge barrage of words of consolation, or empty words as she'd like to call them. She expected that from other people, but she's surprised her mother-in-law would fall for the same thing.

Elena must've caught herself for she said instead, "I'll be there soon." And the call ended.

Santana shut her eyes and gave herself a moment's reprieve. She had a couple of months to prepare herself for this. Not that she had tried even the slightest to prepare herself for this day. She never dealt well with problems and her wife knew this. When a problem comes her way, she either runs the other direction or pretends it doesn't exist until it fixes itself or her wife fixes them for her. But who could really blame her? Not a single thing in the world could prepare anyone to the loss of their loved one.

Whether she hated it or not, she didn't really have a choice. She didn't have the luxury of grieving for her own loss, not when she have their kids to take care of and love twice as much now that their other mother could no longer be there for them physically. She couldn't drown herself in alcohol or her own sorrows, not when she needed to be back on her feet fast and get a job after being a stay-at-home mom for four years.

She didn't know how long she had stayed in that uncomfortable hospital chair and fell into a listless sleep pleading for her wife to come back and murmuring her name over and over again.

As Elena walked towards the seemingly lifeless Latina, she noted the distress on crumpled eyebrows and tensed jaw. She felt the same ache Santana was wearing on her face as she saw her lips tremble in a slight pout as she called her daughter's name over and over…

"Quinn… Quinn… Quinn…"

* * *

Disclaimer # 2: I love Quinn, I really do. But I had to and this is first and foremost, **a Brittana-Endgame story.** To those who like Quinn as well, the least I could give you is that she would be viewed in a good light. Also, Don't forget to R&R. Your comments, questions, ideas, or whathaveyou's are deeply appreciated.


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Living With Mrs Pierce

Pairing: Brittany/Santana

Rating: M for future chapters

Summary: A death in the family forces Brittany to go back to the hometown she promised to never return again. Warning: Character death.

**Chapter 1**

_03:05 am. Chelsea, NY._

Brittany was suddenly awoken from her restless sleep, sweaty and panting. It was for the better, she thinks. Normally, she would be really pissed off if someone or something had awoken her so suddenly—a booty call, a hook-up who thinks she's being cute by going down on her so early, or another phone call from her mother nagging her for the millionth time to come and visit her.

She's a light sleeper and she values her sleep especially since she accepted directing the re-staging of _Chicago_ which she had been working on for eight months now which is thankfully approaching its prime. Add that to managing and sometimes teaching at her own studio, 24 hours is not really enough. But being close to the premiere, she really hasn't slept a wink. It's rehearsal after rehearsal after rehearsal.

Then, of course, the whole rehearsal would be delayed due to some technical malfunctions or the props don't come out exactly how she envisioned them or one of her dancers collapses from exhaustion or she had to put her foot down when the producers suddenly decide to play director themselves. It's much hard work—harder than merely being a choreographer which is how she had started in this gig in the first place a couple of years back. But she loves it anyway.

Yes, it must be the exhaustion. She hadn't thought about Lima in a while. She hadn't thought about _her._ And it had been a year since she stopped dreaming about the same thing but she remembers everything vividly.

_Brittany's sitting on her family's old living room couch then two blonde kids would enter through the foyer. She could recognize them immediately, her four-year old self following a nine-year old Quinn like a lost puppy. They would quickly disappear into the kitchen but the returning footsteps would bring her a sixteen-year old goddess instead, in her cheerio uniform but with her hair free from its usual tight ponytail. And much to her pleasure, the caramel skinned beauty would slowly slither towards her, biting her lower lip and giving her a sultry stare, and start removing her clothes one by one on the way. Brittany would grunt and pant heavily by then as she gets to scan each skin revealed to her sinful eyes. The girl would stop right in front of her, only in her exquisite lingerie and as she undoes the clasp in front of her bra, she would slowly lean to give her a better view of the treasure underneath. Brittany would hold her breathe, ready to pounce on the goddess right before her. But then the girl would say, not in what she expected was a sensual tone even for the girl's naturally rich, raspy voice, "Hey little girlie, what are you doing?"_

_Dumbfounded, she would assert, "I'm not a child anymore!"_

_The girl would only laugh, "But, of course you are. You're Quinnie's tiny little baby sister!"_

"_That doesn't even make any sense. It's redundant!"_

"_That's right **you **are a genius. Real smart for your age, honey boo boo," tapping her nose for emphasis. She'd feel insulted despite the still genuine smile on the girl's face._

_She'd keep defending she's no longer a child but the girl, now suddenly fully clothed, would only laugh lightly and pamper her, giving her these giant children's toys and candies while a sixteen-year old Quinn would just laugh on the background._

Fortunately, Brittany would wake up before the girl's hands reach her heavily blushing cheeks and pinch them.

She looked at the time. 3:05 am. She really should have taken that sleeping pill. But for some reason she had now forgotten, she didn't even though she had the whole day cleared the next day. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands and cracked her bones. She couldn't sleep now. Not after that dream. She shuffled out of her queen-sized bed and made her way towards the kitchen, tapping the answering machine on her way to the coffee maker.

She half-listened to the six messages she got since yesterday as she waited for her coffee. She already had a vague idea of who would be calling her.

Her mind was still reeling from the dream she had. She had a perfect life here in Chelsea, she wouldn't trade it for the world even though she could now afford an apartment uptown. She lives in a suburban neighbourhood—_just like in Lima_, she thought idly. The people are friendly and open-minded and they treat each other as if they had known each other for a long time—_like back home_. She especially loved the small coffee shop around the corner from her apartment—_I wonder if Breadstix and The Lima Bean are still up_. Come to think of it, a lot of the things that drew her to Chelsea were the same things she loved about Lima.

But here, there is no _her_.

Brittany mentally face-palmed herself. She really thought she was over her. _It was just a stupid **stupid **crush, nothing more, _she told herself for the millionth time, willing herself to believe it. I mean how pathetic could you be to still be pining over your sick sister's wife? She's really a despicable human being. It doesn't get any lower than this.

"_Hello Brittany, this is Rachel Barbra Berry… again… I know you said you would be busy, but would it hurt for you to call me back at least once?" _

_It **does** get lower than_ _that,_ she grumbled to herself at the sudden reminder.

_"I mean, I thought we had a connection! You're the only girl…"_

Rachel was one of the two mistakes in her life she had really regretted, the first one obviously, was falling in love with her sister's then-girlfriend, now-wife—which wasn't really that obvious since it's not like she had a choice on that matter.

She could get any girl she wanted but that one time she had drunk way past her alcohol limit and thought it would be fun to go for someone different than her usual type. I mean, she could have gone for another blonde or even a bald girl with an inverted cross tattoo on her head, but no, her drunk in its ass mind thought it would be more fun to go for the geeky, uptight, animal sweater-wearing child-lady who kept insisting she is straight even while they were doing it. And now she had to live with the consequences of that one lapse of judgement on a daily basis. Like, _forever_. She cringed.

"_Brittany, it's mom..."_

"Here we go again…" she whined to the machine. God knows she loves her mom. She had supported her and loved her and cared for her and her siblings for eighteen years and she very much appreciate that. She would have not hesitated talking to her if she would have just left her alone and have not kept guilt-tripping her on going back to Lima.

"…_your sister's still not doing well. I know she would appreciate it very much if you visit her at the hospital…"_

She sighed. Quinn and Brittany had been calling each other a couple of times for updates on their lives. Her sister knew she is busy with her show and all and Quinn was very proud of her. And even though Brittany would feel a slight pang of jealousy and her heart breaks a little bit more to mere dust whenever Quinn would mention her wife and their kids, she just let her.

She can hear the pride and love in her older sister's voice whenever she talks about her family and Brittany wonders if she would ever find her own true love. Someone, hopefully, like _her_. Someone she could finally call hers and someone who would be happy to be hers in return. Someone who would love her back as much as she loved them. And hopefully, that someone is not yet married. Particularly not to any of her siblings.

"_Brittany, this is Rachel… again! For heaven's sake, I know you're screening your phone because of me…"_

"Yeah, because everything revolves around you," she mocked as she poured herself a cup of the already made coffee.

"_I had never,_ **_ever,_** _been so furious with anyone in my life! I hope you're lying in your deathbed like you said you were because that's the only reason I could think of of why you couldn't pick your phone __up _and call me. Because _quite_ frankly, I'm a great catch!"

Brittany snorted to her mug on being reminded of the blatant lie she had told the woman. The other messages were not so hilarious or eventful after that. It was either work-related or invitations for drinks from her co-workers and past flings.

She was about to head out for a jog when the phone rings. It was only half-past three. Who could possibly want to ring her this early? She decided to let the machine take it and wait it out to see who was desperate enough to talk to her at this time.

"_Brittany, it's mom. I really hope you'd pick your phone up this time because I really …" _

Brittany could hear the misery and desperation in her voice. _Oh god_. Without thinking twice and wasting another second, she picked up the phone.

"Mom, what's wrong? Are you okay?" her heart was pounding as she waited for her mom to gather another burst of strength to talk further.

"Sh-she's go-o-one…" Elena's voice was so broken.

_No, no, this cannot happen. She can't be… Not my sister, no._ Her sister had assured her many times that she was doing fine and that their mom was just being her usual over-protective and paranoid self. That she would soon be released from the hospital and that Brittany needed not bother to visit her knowing she had a lot on her plate._ "It was just a standard check-up to see if all the cancerous cells had been taken out completely,"_ Quinn had sworn to her when she offered to visit her for a couple of days.

"W-what…" Brittany's mind was still reeling thinking of other possible ways her mom could have meant that statement. "What do you mean?"

"She's gone, Brittany" she just repeated.

The hand holding the phone to her ear had been trembling so badly by then that she had to lean to the counter on her elbows for support.

"I- I- I don't understand, mom… W-who… who's gone?" She really didn't understand. _She was fine._ She had just talked to Quinn a couple of days ago.

"Your sister…" Elena's voice was pleading—pleading for her daughter to understand soon because she doesn't know how long she could talk about her first-born's death without completely breaking down.

And for the first time, without any hesitation and any thoughts of _her_, she finally told her mother the one thing her mother wanted from her for seven years now, the same thing she had successfully avoided on doing until now.

"I'm coming home."

* * *

A/N: And there you have it. It's a Brittana story, don't worry.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: First of all, I don't know if anyone is still interested in reading this story. To those who followed, reviewed, and added my story to their favourites, this new chapter is for you. I honestly haven't planned ahead with this story and normally I wouldn't be pleased with how sloppy I start any of my stories (This is my first fan fiction and I just started it due to boredom and I'm more inclined to write stories with social realist rather than romantic themes so I do apologize if I'm not living up to the standards). But I do know where the story is headed but it's all in my head so I hope I could put them in paper more smoothly than how this started (like for example, how the first two chapters should be the prologue). I do have to warn you though that I'm kinda ADHD and I have a short attention span. But reviews and follows could cure some of that. *wink-wink* LOL But whether or not I get more reviews, etc, I do plan on continuing this story and I won't leave those who are following this story hanging.

Secondly, I realize that not many are keen to see some Quinntana but in my defence, a) I'd rather her character die than Brittany or Santana; b) I'd rather have Santana be with a girl than a guy—at least, for this specific story; and c) it's all part of the plot. Brittana is endgame. Actually, it's not even that. It's Brittana _all the way_. Quinntana is just an unfortunate preamble.

And lastly, you can't really fault Santana for choosing to marry and loving Quinn when she hasn't even seen Brittany in a light other than Quinn's younger sister. After all, five years is a _huge_ difference when you're adolescent—unless of course, you're into paedophilia.

That's all. Again, thank you for reading. On with the chapter.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and have no intention of owning it and all the mess that comes with it.

Title: **Living With Mrs Pierce**

Pairing: Brittany / Santana

Rating: T for now

* * *

_Chapter Two_

* * *

Brittany was still in shock since the call with her mother ended. It's as if she had an out of body experience in which her body just went to autopilot. Somehow, she had managed to still be professional and do the responsible thing of calling her producers and ringing Mike, her best friend and the manager of her studio, packed her bags, and got the first available flight to her hometown.

She honestly still didn't know what to think and feel. She wanted to be mad at Quinn for not telling her the severity of her illness. She wanted to cry for her loss, not only for that day and the rest of her life but for the years she had let pass letting a girl—or rather her feelings for a girl—get in the way of her relationship with her sister.

Guilt, hurt, anguish, betrayal, anger, love—she felt all those things and she couldn't pick one that stood out most so she settled for numbness instead.

The flight was over before she knew it. And like before, she just went through the motions of getting out of the plane, picking her bags up, and renting a car back to Lima. She didn't expect to be picked up by her brother or father. She knew they had a lot in their plate. Besides, she needed the hour and a half drive to clear her head—not that there's much to clear, anyway—and mentally prepare herself on coming back to her good ole' hometown with her good ole' family and inevitably, seeing _her_ again after seven years of staying away. And it was for good reason she stayed away. At least, that's what she had told herself.

She had reasoned that if she stayed in Lima or at least, visit here once in a while, she would be tempted to steal Santana from her sister, and worse, she _would_ try and steal Santana for her own without hesitation.

She didn't know if Quinn knew about her infatuation with her wife. Well, that's not exactly true. In the back of her mind, she did know that on some level, Quinn had realized it at some point during the seven years of random and seldom calls. She just didn't want to think about it for her own sake because the guilt of even dreaming to be with Santana regardless of Quinn's happiness just keeps tearing her apart. Quinn never confronted her about it, that's not Quinn's style. But if the times she had talked about her wife to her compared to the times she had gushed about her kids is any indication, Brittany was positive that Quinn knew. Almost. She was still holding on to the infinitesimal chance that that isn't the case.

All this time, Brittany thought she only stayed away for their own good. But now, she wasn't so sure.

As she drove past the now familiar roads and surroundings of Lima, she realized it was not much staying away that she did, but more of her running away from _her_ and the feelings she conjure up within Brittany.

She always thought she was being selfless as to let Quinn and her family have the perfect life they deserve without her there making googly eyes at her wife and plotting ways to get the woman for her own when in fact, now that she thought about it, it was everything but selfless. She did it to protect her own heart.

Because at the back of her head, even if she did try to steal Santana away from Quinn, Santana, herself, wouldn't let her.

Her parents, Quinn, Sam, her friends back in Lima, even Santana, they all didn't deserve the cold shoulder especially when she didn't even try to come up with an explanation or even a lie that would explain why she need to leave for good—and consequentially and unintentionally, push them away to some extent.

As she slowed down her neighbourhood, Brittany nodded once making up her mind. She would try harder. To try and salvage her relationship with the people most important to her. To not let a day pass by without telling or showing them how much she loves and cares for them. To not let _anything_ get in the way of how she wants to live her life. And most of all, to forget all these damned feelings for Santana—and probably, even strike some form of friendship with her later.

_For Quinn_.

She had been given a second chance to patch her relationship with her family and friends here and she'd be damned if she'd make the same mistake of running away again like the little girl that she had once been. Mind over matter, right?

Brittany pulled up to her childhood house and took one final deep breath. _Right_.

She ran her eyes over the peeling paint of the exterior walls, the proliferation of rust on the roof, the dust that gathered on the window sill of her old room, the old rubber tire hanging sadly from the old tree beside the garage. It looked like it hadn't been taken care of for years. And yet she merely smiled with reverence as old memories of her childhood came back into the forefronts of her mind. She was finally _home._ It was as if she was a puzzle with all the pieces missing and she kept looking for them only to realize that they were right where she left them.

Brittany was startled out of her reverie by the banging of the door. She's probably still out of it as she just sat in her car and watched a small boy, probably two or three years of age, running out of the house as fast as he can with unsure but insistent feet. Brittany's eyes widened as she realized no one is still running to get him.

_The street!_ She bolted out of her car, heart pounding as she easily caught up to the child before he can even step on the pavement and snuggled him protectively into her chest.

"Shit, shit, shit, not again. Sammy! Sammy!"

Brittany turned back to the panicking voice until she was face to face with familiar hazel-green eyes. They stood there for a long while just taking in each other, how different they seem now than they were when they last saw each other, how much each other had grown. _Seven years is a long time_, Brittany thought. Both can see the struggle in each other's eyes on how to approach the situation. It was like meeting for the first time which is absurd given that this is them and not just anyone.

Brittany finally broke the silence with a chuckle. "You named your son 'Sammy'?"

Sam smiled his infamous wide boyish grin. "He's not mine." Brittany noticed how the twinkle in his eyes faltered slightly before it was gone. "He is my twin," finally coming closer to her and transferring the rowdy child into his own arms.

Brittany laughed realizing how much she missed her younger brother who is now taller and bigger than her. She opened her arms wide and she felt a little bit at peace when he pulled her by the shoulders with a surprisingly strong grip. And just like that, she found another piece of her puzzle.

"Finally. You are home," he whispered to her hair. Brittany let out a deep sigh as she snuggled more into the hug, the reality of why they are all here to begin with—or why she was here, to be precise—crashing back at her. She mentally shook her head to block out the thought and bid a little more time as she hoped her reunion with her friends and the rest of her family would be this simple.

Brittany pulled out of the hug and gripped his broad shoulders. "Look at you!" She smiled widely at him.

"Yeah, look at this fine piece of man candy," he joked back as he flexed one of his biceps that wasn't supporting the now silent boy who was just studying their interaction.

She smirked back at Sam. "I can still kick your ass, you know."

Sam let out a hearty laugh drawing her back to his side by her shoulders as he led her inside the Pierce house. "No, thank you. I think I've had enough of your ass kicking to last me a lifetime."

As they neared the entry way, Brittany heard a melodious voice that was coming from upstairs.

"Sam? Sam! I heard a slam. What was that? Is Samuel alright? Sam!"

"He's fine," Sam called back.

"I had been calling for you for an hour now. What took you so long to answer?"

Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the exaggeration. "We just got distracted."

"You didn't forget to close the door again, did you?"

Sam looked guiltily for Brittany's benefit, who was then seem occupied with her own thoughts. "I would never," he lied.

"Of course, you would." It was said as if it was not meant to be heard by him but they heard it none the same. "We'll be down in a minute," she finally called down with a sigh as they heard footsteps backing up the second floor hallway.

Sam chuckled softly so as not to be heard by the frustrated mother and shook his head. "Can you believe her? I can take care of a child. Ain't that right, buddy?" he informed his sister and little Samuel conversationally as he walked away to the living room with the front door still wide open.

Brittany, on the other hand, was still rooted on her spot on the entry way. She felt like she was hyperventilating and she needed a minute to compose herself, thankful Sam got distracted by his namesake. If this is how she feels when she hears her voice, what more if she actually sees her?

She mentally chastised herself having no room for such foolish thoughts. She was here to make amends with her family. She was here for her family, especially Quinn. _Quinn_. She imagined Quinn's disappointed face and like magic, she immediately calmed down. _She's just another girl_, she reminded herself for good measure. _Yes, she's just another girl_. And with that thought, she mentally patted herself on the back. With a smile in place, she closed the forgotten door and made her way to the living room.

The sight that beheld her made her smile bigger. Sam was sat on the couch with the little man on his lap clutching at his shirt dearly as Sam pointed out to him what the characters on the television were doing. Her thoughts immediately flew back to when she was a wee thing and Quinn told her stories of mermaids and unicorns and princesses and princes.

"See that bald guy? That's Homer. He's always grumpy and a little bit on the daft side. Now, that cool kid with the spiky blonde hair…"

It finally registered what they were watching and her eyes bugged out as she looked back at the screen to confirm her suspicions. Homer was strangling Bart when she finally found the remote and switched it to a safer channel.

"Hey, what's the big idea? We were watching that!" Sam whined mid-laugh.

"The Simpsons is not a kid show, Trouty!" she reproached using the childhood nickname they made up to tease him.

"It's a cartoon!" he defended utterly baffled what the big deal was.

"It's a cartoon for adults."

"Why would there be a cartoon for adults?" he argued proudly looking at her as if she was the one who is making dumb arguments.

Brittany wanted to smack him in the head. So she did. "The same reason you still watch cartoons, you dolt."

Sam scratched the back of his head where she hit him. "I don't like you," he grumbled. Looking back at the tele, he sighed and pouted like a petulant child. "This is boring!" he whined. "Isn't it, little Sam?" He looked down at the little man only to see him grinning and bobbing his head and foot to the rhythm of the song an ugly purple dinosaur is singing. Sam laughed and poked him gently on his round stomach. "And here I was thinking you play for my team."

Their playful banter died down when a woman with long wavy raven hair wearing a tight black dress and carrying a small girl in her arms step down the stairs. "Did you just call my son 'little Sam'?" the woman called out to the living room with a small smirk indicating her chiding was of playful nature.

Brittany's smile died down as her eyes focused on the vision in front of her who was still unaware of her presence as her attention was still on Sam. _She's_ **not** _just any other girl_. After seven years and giving birth to two children, she still managed to be _this_ beautiful? She was even more beautiful than she had remembered. _It is just my luck_, she thought bitterly. She turned her head towards the ceiling silently groaning and pleading to the gods and… _is that a spider?_ She shook her head to get back on her thought process.

Brittany S. Pierce is royally and unequivocally _fucked_.

"Fuck my life," she breathed out still staring at the ceiling to avoid her eyes from wandering up and down the figure of her just-widowed sister-in-law not noticing the stares she received from that comment.

_This is so, oh so wrong._

xox

* * *

A/N #2: I hope this chapter is not as messy as it probably is. I know I said I hate being sloppy but, fuck it, I need to give you something. I'll just proofread another time. Also, this chapter is supposed to be a lot longer than this is but as I wrote, word vomit happens, and it became waaaayyy too long so I figured you'd probably get bored reading it halfway and this seems like a good place to cut. So, let me know what you think about the story! Boring? Awful? Average? Stop trying? The review button below doesn't bite. :)


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm so, so sorry, you guys. I should not have started another story especially when I know real life is getting more demanding each day. I'll try to make a more workable and reasonable schedule for the updates. I hope this update is worth the wait though and that I could perhaps get a more enthusiastic reaction from you lovely readers.

I just had my nails done and I'm completely happy with my new polish. I badly needed that after this never ending Bram fiasco. Oh, btw, I'm so done with Glee. Thank god for spoilers or I would have watched this damn show only to get disappointed and furious with each episode. I fucking loathe Bram and it hasn't even started yet. I'll probably just watch clips of Naya/Santana somewhere. I love Heath but I cannot watch Brittany be all lovey dovey and stupid with Sam while the fandom still makes their own headcanons from their "between the lines" relationship.

* * *

Title: **Living With Mrs Pierce**

Pairing: Brittany / Santana

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do **NOT** own Glee. Fuck you, Ryan Murphy.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

"Did you just call my son 'little Sam'?" Santana padded down the stairs with Isabella in her arms.

It was hard to maintain the smile on her face but she can't afford to falter her mask and disappoint her children. It was hard enough for her babies to lose their mama. It would only make things worse if she, herself, became emotionally inaccessible and unstable right in front of them.

It was really painful, though.

She almost lost it when she had to ran back up to her in-law's upstairs guest room after putting her daughter there for a nap just thirty minutes ago, and see her crying pitifully from a nightmare. Mama was leaving them, her beautiful girl had recounted. _"She leaves us for always,"_ Izzie pouted pleading Santana with her big brown eyes for assurance that what she had dreamt wasn't true.

Santana didn't know what to tell her child, her brain too drained to function from willing herself to stop the tears from falling. She didn't know whether Izzie was referring to the fights she had witnessed between her parents or if she heard, for a fact, from someone that her mama has passed away and learned what that means.

But Santana had mustered a smile she knew looked too sad and far from comforting. She just hoped Izzie would take it as how she had meant it to be—a smile that says "_**I**_ will always be here for you two."

She drew her daughter to her chest and hugged her tightly when she felt she couldn't hold back her own tears any longer so her daughter would not witness the shattering of some of the pieces of her fragile heart.

She couldn't say what Izzie wanted to hear. So Santana merely kissed her baby's hair and whisper her own hope, instead. _"We will get by."_

Later, she would try and explain to her baby why mama cannot be with them any longer or why these new faces gathering in grandma and pa's house are all looking sad. For now-

Santana sighed holding her daughter tighter, drawing strength from her.

For now, she's still learning to be braver. Stronger. Bigger.

The small flicker in Izzie's eyes when she saw her Uncle Sam made her own smile wider.

"I did," Sam grinned bouncing Sammy in his lap.

"Well, as long as you don't call your little _friend_ under there _that_, we wouldn't have a problem," Santana teased looking at his lap past her son. The huge blush and startled look on his face and the squeal from little Sammy who sensed the playful banter between two of his favourite people drew a genuine chuckle from her.

"I don't," Sam defended weakly. "Besides, it's not my fault you named your son after me."

Sam's eyes widened and added, "Not that I'm not happy or grateful about it or anything." You couldn't take back and change a name, right?

Izzie was giggling with her little brother, all traces of tears and sadness in her eyes from before forgotten for now, and that was enough for Santana to keep their childish banter going.

"Oh please, you cried like a baby when we didn't name Izzie 'Samantha.' Your huge guppy mouth almost swallowed my hospital room from all your whining!"

Isabella doubled in laughter in Santana's arms. "Uncle Sam is a big baby!" She grabbed her mommy's face with her small hands to look at her, "I don't cry like that, right, mommy? 'cause I'm a big sister?"

Santana smiled wider. "That's right, sweetie. _You_ are a big girl now," she cooed nuzzling her nose with her own in an eskimo kiss. She put her daughter on the couch to sit next to Sam so she can pay the same attention and affection to her two-year old who had been squirming in Sam's arms since he saw her wanting to be picked up.

"Fuck my life," another voice filtered the room. She was too preoccupied in trying to make her children laugh that she wasn't aware there was another person in the room with them.

It was a mere whisper but Santana's hand automatically reached for her son's ears to dull out the curse word.

Samuel Nathaniel Pierce still had a problem speaking even though he babbles a lot. After being assured by his pedia that he doesn't have any abnormalities or sickness that could explain this and hinder his growth, she and Quinn had been working to try and get him to talk proper words but no matter how much they ask him, he still refuses to budge.

She really didn't want her son's first word to be a bad one.

Her eyes immediately landed on a beautiful woman whose head is turned heavenwards. She could see the strain in the woman's slender yet strong neck as it swallows a lump in her throat under the loose pink and blue chequered scarf. Her eyes caught on to the flexing of her arms as she gripped her sides, how her tight abs danced as they contracted under her white tank top and her small breasts expand from each heavy breathes she took. Her eyes scanned lower following the long lithe path which seems to go on forever down to the tips of the combat boots which tucks the washed denim jeans she was wearing.

If Santana had been thinking clearly, she would have realized she had just been checking out another woman other than her wife and she would have chastised herself for the level of inappropriateness of such action especially a day after her wife's passing.

But stare she did, her conscious mind so innocently questioning who this woman was and how she was related to Quinn.

As brown finally meets familiar blue pools, Santana immediately knew the answer to the woman's identity. She could never forget those piercing blue eyes which had always looked at her and Quinn with intense hatred and perhaps even disgust.

Or was it hurt?

She had real trouble reading the middle-Pierce after Quinn and her came clean to the true nature of their relationship.

The falling out deeply wounded Santana since Brittany had always been her favourite Pierce and it seemed like Brittany was really fond of her as well. But after they came out, Brittany had been more and more distant to Quinn and outright refused acknowledging Santana's existence. She had tried many times to talk and explain to her only to get the door slammed on her face. And when they graduated and visited during holidays, Brittany always managed to avoid them favouring on hanging out with her friends or locking herself in her room blaring some obnoxious music.

She expected that kind of shunning from a lot of people but not from any of the Pierces, especially not from sweet, innocent little Britt-y. The girl was clearly homophobic. She said so to her wife who merely laughed and told her she was being silly—but what else could it be, right?

"Princess?" Santana let out unwittingly, still not believing her eyes. But then she remembered what Brittany had accidentally blurted out a while ago.

"_Fuck my life."_

Was Santana really that disdainful a human being that her mere presence would make her lament attending her own sister's funeral?

_No._ Santana hardened her face. Brittany clearly hadn't changed at all in her views on her and her sexuality. She would not lose sleep again overthinking what she could possibly have done to win a little girl's acceptance and win back her affection. Brittany's a grown woman now and if she still had a problem with homosexuality, then she'd just have to deal with it until she leaves again.

"Brittany," she amended curtly adjusting her grip on Sammy, her voice strong and confident daring the other woman to make the mistake of saying something homophobic to her and especially to her children to justify clawing her eyes out and bitch-slapping her till kingdom come.

"San-tana," Brittany nodded to her meekly, eyes darting everywhere but her. Her face was a deep shade of crimson and her voice was laced with fear and something she couldn't pinpoint.

Santana blinked. She didn't expect this reaction at all.

_Why was she blushing?_ She looked down at her dress to see if Sammy had tugged her dress again a little too low and flashed her boob out for everyone to see. It was not.

Santana's eyes darted at Brittany again. She would keep an eye on her. She didn't know what this woman is playing but she would never let Brittany mess with her and her family. Tomorrow, after the funeral, she would pack her bags again and hopefully, leave her and her family in peace for good to pick up the pieces of their once contented and comfortable lives.

xox

* * *

xox

Brittany watched as her family, friends, and neighbours slowly gathered inside the chapel.

There was a light buzzing of murmured conversations filling the room. Brittany's gaze flitted around the room spotting some faces she's not familiar with. By the attire they were wearing, she guessed they were Quinn's colleagues at the law firm she worked for. She nodded back to some family friends who acknowledged her. Brittany saw some of her high school friends amongst the crowd. Puck and Brodie gave her a curt nod while Tina and Mercedes smiled at her. Brittany mustered a small grateful smile to them before she turned back to the front of the chapel, her gaze automatically searching and landing on Santana, without any thought, where she sat in vigil at the very first row with a napping Samuel on her arms and a gloomy Isabella tucked to her side.

To say it was awkward and disconcerting between her and Santana would be a huge understatement.

She would have been thrilled to know that Santana is taking interest on her. But not like _this_.

Brittany didn't know why she was in the receiving end of Santana's death glares. She could feel the prick of Santana's stares at the back of her head with every movement she makes. The Latina would jump from her seat and clutch the couch tightly every time Brittany tries to converse and play with Sammy and Izzie. And whenever Brittany finally gathers the courage to look up and meet her stares, Santana would give her this far too sweet smile to be genuine and look back to whatever she pretends she was doing.

Things only went from bad to worse when Brittany got assigned to Quinn and Santana's guest room and bunk with Sam as her and Sam's old rooms had been relegated to her aunts and uncles' use who flew all the way from Amsterdam.

She was almost sure Santana would self-combust when her mother informed her of the sleeping arrangement, which Brittany later concluded was not the plan they had agreed on. But again, being the proper lady that she surely is, Santana managed to compose herself enough to offer a tight smile through gritted teeth.

Their home was a luxurious two and a half-story Spanish Colonial Revival style complete with four bedrooms, a huge entertainment and game room, two offices, a small gym, a backyard pool, a now barely-used cellar, and even real palm trees which Brittany is sure were imported as such and replanted there.

Brittany immediately fell in love with the place—a true getaway right in the outskirts of Lima. She had been to resorts with such intricate architecture in Mexico and the Caribbean, but this by far was her favourite especially since Santana and two of the most amazing kids she ever met lives there.

Brittany looked back to Isabella as the little girl stared longingly at the casket. Brittany felt a tinge of sadness for the little girl. She had heard the whispered conversation and sobs between the mother and child as she walked to her room right across Izzie's. She didn't mean to pry but she caught on to some of the exchange to know that Santana had been explaining to Isabella about life and death.

She could see in their faces how last night's conversation took a toll on them, particularly on Santana. Santana had been generally uncommunicative except to her children. She could see her stiffen at every words of consolation given to her and her eyes dull down with every monotonous retelling of Quinn's futile battle with cancer. Brittany had asked her mother to take over greeting their guests to give Santana some well-deserved reprieve.

She took a packet of gum from her pocket and immediately chewed on two. Without thinking, Brittany walked up to the two girls and plopped down right next to Izzie. She could see from the corner of her eyes how two sets of brown eyes were now looking perplexedly at her, one with a hint of hostility, the other with genuine curiosity.

_Anything to take their minds off of things for a little bit_, Brittany thought.

Still without looking at her audience directly, Brittany blew a huge bubble of gum. The youngest Pierce's eyes widened and twinkled in amazement as the blue bubble got bigger and bigger and bigger before her eyes reflecting her and her mother's disjointed figures in its surface. Brittany raised a hand in a flicking position as she waited for the little girl to catch on and cover her ears.

Brittany noted in amusement how Santana's eyes widened and her free hand impulsively went up to cover Izzie's ear and cradled the other one to her side as her own eyes immediately closed, her whole body tensing in fear and anticipation. The blonde internally chuckled. She didn't know Santana is afraid of loud noises—well, she didn't know a lot of things about Santana.

A loud bang and fits of giggle echoed through the room, breaking the once sombre atmosphere and gaining the attention of the whole community.

The glare and slap on the back of the head Brittany received from her mother was worth it though as she heard Izzie's giggles and even Santana's short but pretty much genuine chuckle as the blonde gently pulled the gum mask from her face and hair. She felt bad though when Samuel startled awake crying from the loud noise and Santana yet again gave her the evil eye. She really should have thought that one through.

"Do it again! Do it again!" Izzie chanted.

Brittany offered her a wide smile, "Well, we can't here." She looked up to Santana's eyes, silently asking for permission. Santana was still eyeing her dangerously but gave in after she looked down at her daughter's puppy eyes and pout with a nod.

"May I regale you, fine lady, a walk in the courtyard?" Brittany lowered her voice and bowed before Isabella which drew a new fit of laughter from the little girl.

"You're silly." But she still took the offered hand as they made their way outside.

After doing the same trick for a few times, and running and fooling around in the backyard lawn, the solemn silence caught up to them as they sit at the steps of the chapel.

"What are you thinking about, princess?" Brittany prodded gently as she watched the girl look up at the sky through squinted eyes.

"Mama," Izzie answered truthfully. "Mommy said mama is super weak and sleepy and she need a super long, long nap. But…" she paused, eyes still gazing at the sky. "I don't understand why she need to sleep _there_ when she can do it at home," she finished with brows scrunched, pointing where the clouds and the afternoon sun meet.

She looked back at the still dazed Brittany as she pouted and continued in a small voice. "I promise mommy I will be quiet and be the bestest good girl and I will keep Sammy quiet so mama can come back… but mommy just cried and I don't know what else to do."

Brittany held back her own tears as she listened to Isabella speak. She could not imagine how hard the past year had been for Quinn and her family.

_I didn't know_, a small voice at the back of her brain reminded her but she felt guilty nonetheless. Thoughts of what if's and what could have been's riddled her mind. She thought of what their life would be like now that Quinn's gone. How would this affect Isabella, particularly Samuel who still has no idea on what was happening? How would Santana manage being a single mother? Who's going to take care of Santana after she takes care of her children?

She searched for the most comforting words she could offer the child.

She reached for the little girl and cuddled her in her lap, tucking her head under her chin. "It's not your fault, princess. Mama just needs to be up in the sky so Mama can look out for you and Sammy even better even while she rests in bed. And for now, you have to take care of mommy like she takes care of you, okay?"

Izzie looked back at Brittany with big teary eyes searching for truth at her words. After finding what she was looking for, she solemnly nodded. "I promise."

She smiled down and reached her right pinky towards the girl. "Pinky-promise you would help mommy take care of you and the little man?"

Isabella let out a small smile as she reached her own pinky to link with the bigger one. "I pinky-promise."

Brittany tucked her more fiercely under her chin, savouring this quiet moment with her mini-Santana. She wanted so badly to be in this family's life in any way or form but she's not blind or dumb to know that Santana would not be happy about that.

"That's my girl."

xox

* * *

xox

"Britt-annyyyyy!"

The loud banging of the double doors of the chapel and the loud, piercing—screeching even—wails disturbed, yet again, the solemnity of the room.

"Britt-annyyyyy!"

A small brunette in an all-black attire—complete with the huge dark shades that cover almost her entire face and a black sunhat with huge brims laced under the chin to keep in place—came barrelling down the aisle towards the casket.

The whole community buzzed with murmurs of protests and curiosity at the identity of the crasher.

"_This is an outrage!"_

"_No, I don't remember ever seeing her."_

"_She's probably the other woman."_

"_The attorney has another woman?!"_

Samuel's wails of his own protests on yet again being startled awake followed subsequently, merely a minute or two of hushing the little boy back to sleep after the little incident with Brittany.

What. The. _Fuck_. Is going on? What the hell is this mental case doing in here, ruining their small and peaceful commemoration of her wife's life?

"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm arouuuuunnnd... Nothing's gonna harm youuuuuu..."

_Is she singing?_ Santana eyed the woman incredulously as she tried to pacify little Samuel's cries. _Who the fuck is this and who the fuck still wears **that**?_ The woman seemed to come straight out from a black and white Hepburn flick for midgets.

"Oh, Brittany! Why did you leave me so soon? Not even giving us a chance to get to know _me_ more? And to think that the last thing I told you was to drop dead…" the woman hiccuped, her face contorted in agony as if she was having trouble pooping. "And here you are now, all dead and…" she paused mid-whine as she studied the face of the dead woman more closely through the glass.

"Wow! Why do you look _different_? I mean, I know dead people are supposed to be pale but, by golly, what a lovely nose!"

Sam cleared his throat as he took cautious steps, tapping her on the shoulder and taking a step back just as quickly in fear of the wild short lady.

"Tha-that's Quinn…" Sam spoke weakly as soon as he got the attention of the woman.

The woman blinked at him then looked back and forth between Sam and the casket.

Realizing she still had an audience to please, she slumped her whole body to the casket theatrically whining louder and sobbing harder for everyone to hear.

"And to think I didn't even know you make your friends call you _queen_! Oh, Brittany, we really were meant to be! I once asked my dads and my publicist to call me 'Your Majesty.' And then there's this one time…"

"What the F-U- freaking-C-K is going on here?!" Santana seethed, transferring little Sammy to his uncle so she can give this bitch a piece of her mind. And her knuckles.

"Oh, my name is Rachel Barbra Berry. You must have recognized me from the critically-acclaimed, 12-nights only, Off-Broadway show, 'Maid in 22nd Avenue.' And you are?" Rachel grinned widely, her face devoid of tears as she reached out her hand and finally take off her dark shades so that her fans can recognize her easily.

"_I'm_ gonna kick your ass and bury you instead if you don't get the eff out right now and leave us in peace to say our final goodbyes to my wife, _Quinn_ _Pierce—_your friend, _Brittany's_ sister." Santana may or may not have hissed Brittany's name. But you know what they say about the company you keep. This is just another thing to add to the list of why Brittany is no good.

"Oh." Rachel blinked. She watched at the corner of her eyes as men and women shook their head at her in loathing and dismay as the silence was again replaced with murmurs.

"So this is sufficiently awkward," Rachel laughed half-heartedly to the fuming wife to try and ease the tension.

What should she do now? Should she fake fainting to try and divert their attention? She bet running like a little girl would not salvage what is left of her dignity…

Oh, who was she kidding. She is Rachel Barbra Berry, after all—she has more than enough self-esteem to light up an entire planet. _Okay, think, Rachel. Think! What would Barbra do?_

"So, you are the wife, you say? I bet you feel a lot better now knowing there has been a mix up and that your wife isn't really cheating on you, huh?" The widow merely continued fuming at Rachel.

"That dress is gorgeous! I saw a woman dressed like that at a club. Turns out she was a hooker…" Rachel's eyes widened as she saw the beautiful woman's fists clench tightly at her sides.

"N-N-Not that I think you look like a hooker or anything… Or that I have anything against Latina hookers… I-I-I mean, I'm sure you would make a lovely hooker, if you want to…" The woman took a menacing step towards her, her face flushed with anger. Rachel took a step back—she would never admit this to her memoir, but she literally is ten seconds away from peeing her pants.

_Oh god, Rachel, just stop talking. _She might as well dig her own grave and bury herself alive at this point.

"So, where, did you say, that pit you were talking about was again?"

xox

* * *

Note: Song from the Broadway Musical **Sweeny Todd**'s "Not While I'm Around"

A/N #2: I know. I'm sorry there is still not much Brittana in this chapter. :( I'm sad too. :( I can't wait to start writing the fluff.

Alright, you know what to do (I hope).


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, follows, and favourites! :) All mistakes are mine, will proofread later, etc.

* * *

Title: **Living With Mrs Pierce**

Pairing: Brittany / Santana

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The description, symptoms, etc of Burkitt's Lymphoma in this story is not an accurate portrayal of the sickness and those who suffers from it. What limited knowledge I have of it, I learned from Google and I, shamefully, didn't bother myself to go through an in depth research.

I do not own Glee. What Season 4?

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**

* * *

Brittany was giving Isabella a piggyback-ride on their way back to the chapel when she noticed her mother at the entryway carrying a visibly upset Samuel. She bit her lip in guilt thinking the boy has just had stopped crying after the stunt she pulled a while ago.

"Hey, mom. What are you two doing out here?"

"Oh, Brittany. It's horrible in there," Elena started. "There's this woman saying something about you being dead and there's screaming and clawing and… I'm not really sure what the woman wants but she seems to know you and…"

Brittany's eyes widened, her thoughts automatically went to Santana.

"Is Santana alright?" She didn't even wait for her mother to reply as she gently dropped Isabella to her mother's side and quickly stormed into the chapel. She may not know exactly what was happening but she surely won't wait around and let anything bad happening to the Latina.

The first thing she saw was the whole chapel in absolute chaos. There were a lot of screaming and wailing from different directions. Kids are running amok and jumping and playing with candles and bibles as their irresponsible parents stood around forming the crowd gathering near the front—even the priest was there with his phone on hand. The chairs had been pushed around or turned upside-down, bags had been left unattended, cell phones dangle in the air to try and capture whatever was happening.

Amidst the chaos, Brittany could easily decipher Santana's voice as she cursed nonstop in Spanish. She may not remember much about the language from high school but she is one hundred per cent certain what "_puta_" means. But the loudest of them all is this _very_ annoying, screeching noise—like a cat in heat or a dying cow. _Wait. It almost sounds exactly like…_

Brittany didn't get the chance to stop the images and the memory of the most horrible night in her life from filtering her mind.

_Oh, no._ "No, no, no, no, no… This can't be happening," Brittany shook her head vehemently trying to get rid of the bitter taste Rachel always leaves in her mouth just from the thought of her as she pushed her way through the throng of people.

Sam, Brody, and Puck are holding back—and in the process, basically lifting her in the air—a kicking and screaming Santana who always manages to escape their grasps to try and rip off a piece of clothing—or skin—from a cowering Rachel. Brittany quickly noted Rachel's state—her hat hangs lopsided on her shoulder, her hair in disarray, some accessories she assumed were Rachel's left scattered on the floor broken, one of her sleeves completely torn off, and her right heel broken. Brittany managed to disentangle herself from the crowd as her gaze lingered on Santana, trying to scan her whole face and figure for any damage. She saw none but she still wasn't convinced so she took a step towards the Latina to get closer to her and try and comfort her but someone grabbed her arm forcefully.

"Brittany!" Rachel wailed, clinging to the tall blonde like a koala. "Thank heavens you are alive and well to save me from this mad woman! Oh, it's dreadful, absolutely dreadful… Hug me!" Rachel clung more tightly to Brittany's waist.

"Oh, don't you dare play the victim here!" Santana hissed still struggling from the uncomfortable way she is being carried by the three guys—her limbs sticking out in different directions, she was almost sure she's giving her friends and family an eyeful of her vagina. But there were more pressing matters at hand right now. "You barge in here like you own this joint and ruin my wife's memorial with your singing and your wailing and your horrible choice of outfit!"

"I said I was sorry!" Rachel's whine was muffled as she tried to get a better grasp on Brittany's waist who was trying to pry her arms—and face—away from her.

"Whatever," Santana huffed. "Put me down! Put me down!" she demanded. Santana sighed and stopped struggling.

"I promise I won't attack her again," she pouted, rolling her eyes.

The three men eyed her suspiciously and looked at each other as they decided whether she really meant it. Finally, they put her down to her feet and she quickly adjusted her dress and hair to a more presentable semblance.

"Rachel, you need to let go," Brittany chastised the other woman. But when she finally managed to pry the shorter woman from her, her nails immediately dig into the back of her shirt and hid behind her, melding her face to her back. Brittany sighed exasperatedly at Rachel.

Brittany found Santana's expressive brown eyes filled with anger, hurt, and sadness as she tried to convey as much sympathy and apology in her blue ones. All of these—whatever the hell it is that happened—may not have been her fault but it kind of is by association.

"I'm _so_, so sorry, Santana." Brittany wanted to strangle Rachel, herself, so badly.

"It is whatever now," Santana shrugged her apology off bitterly. "Just do us all a favour and drive your _friend_ around a hundred kilometres from here and lose her along the way so she can't find her way back."

"Hey, I am not a kitten!" Rachel scoffed, momentarily forgetting she's supposed to be afraid of the other woman. "And even if I am, that is still mean." The glare she got from Santana reminded her not to rile the other woman up further as she hid behind Brittany again.

Brittany wanted nothing more than to hold Santana in her arms and explain. Explain what, she, herself, had no idea but she'd say anything just so Santana would trust her and believe that she is not here to hurt her or complicate her and her children's lives.

"Santana," Brittany tried and took a step towards her but the Latina already turned on her heels towards the door to find her children and make sure they are alright.

Rachel did feel bad for the anguish she had further—though unwittingly—caused the pretty woman and the rest of her family and friends. She wished she could say something nice to her just to bring a smile to her face amidst everything. Rachel peeked from her hiding place against Brittany and called out to the other woman, in hopefully, her most soothing and honest voice.

"If it makes you feel any better, you really do have a lovely wife," she smiled. "I would definitely make lady babies with her if she's still alive even if she's a girl."

No one expected it yet no one could really blame Santana when a shoe flew across the chapel hitting the short woman right across the face.

xox

* * *

Brittany seethed, banging her palm on the wheel as she drove back to Quinn and Santana's home.

She had missed the interment of her sister since she had to drive Rachel to a nearby motel. The drive with Rachel had been fairly silent halfway through—at least as silent as Rachel could get, knocked out with the tell-tale sign of bruising right in the middle of her eyebrows. When she came about, Rachel tried to explain herself and lay the blame on Brittany but through Brittany's rage, the blonde fortunately and successfully cut through all of her attempts.

She may have questions as to what Rachel was doing in Lima but she was still not in the mood for that talk. All she knows is that Rachel had ruined everything—her sister's memorial, getting to her family and friends' good side, and what little chance she has on getting Santana to trust and like her again. All she wants now is to find Santana and clear the acrid air between them—she can deal with Rachel later.

As she neared Santana and Quinn's driveway, she can see Puck's and Brody's forms outside smoking in the lawn.

"What was that about?" Puck grinned through a string of smoke as Brittany put the rental car in park and got out. They did a complicated handshake from their high school days before bumping their shoulders together.

"A mistake is what it was about. What she was doing here, following me back to Lima, I honestly have no idea," Brittany pondered, shaking her head in exasperation.

"She's cute," Brody commented dreamily.

Puck and Brittany's heads snapped to their friend, shock and disgust both written in their faces.

"What?" Brody half-shrugged, flicking his cigarette nervously and scuffing his toe in the grass in embarrassment at the slip-up.

Puck and Brittany shook their heads to clear the repelling but very comical image of Rachel and their very much badass friend, Brody, skipping down the street and dancing around hand-in-hand.

"So, how you've been? I heard you're now a big shot in New York. I thought you forgot about us, losers back here." Puck inquired playfully but Brittany could notice some hurt and honesty in his words.

"Never," Brittany whispered in all seriousness.

Brody grinned and pulled her to his side by her shoulders, ruffling the already mussed up blonde hair. "You've been missed."

Puck's face suddenly lit up as he remembered something. "I can't wait to bring you to this strip club we found a couple of years back!" he said excitedly. "Man, this is gonna be awesome! Just like old times! You're officially back as my wingman."

Brittany laughed at the badass' excitement as Brody scoffed. "Hey, I thought I was your wingman!"

"Nah, you're still awful at it," Puck shrugged him off.

"Slow down, boys. I won't be here for long. I still got a musical to direct back in New York," Brittany reminded them through a chuckle at her friends' banter.

"Oh. Of course," Puck's grin loosened a bit at the reality check. "When are you leaving?"

"I don't know… tonight? Tomorrow, maybe?" Brittany looked down, not wanting to meet her friends' disappointed stares. She knew she had had her fears and reservations as to why she didn't want to go back home in the first place but now that she's finally here, she is saddened at the thought of leaving now that she realizes what she had been missing in her life all along.

Don't get her wrong. Brittany is completely fine with her life in New York. She, after all, has already established herself as a dancer, choreographer, and now, as a director. She has a nice apartment and neighbours, has a steady source of income from her studio. She has her best friend, Mike, providing her with enough entertainment, distraction, and sometimes even pain in the neck, and she has the entire female population of New York swooning with just a wink and a smile. Anyone would say she had it made and that her life is perfect. Hell, even her fourteen year old self would say that her life is perfect.

And yet, here she is now, realizing that amidst all these, there is still a huge gaping hole in her heart which is slowly being filled with love and happiness with every minute she stayed with her friends and family. She realizes she merely had been contented with her life in New York before and now, she feels she could be complete and happy here.

It was the little things really. It was the same things she took for granted when she was younger. Her mom's gentle pat on her shoulder or even the slap at the back of her head she gets when she did something bad. Her father's warm eyes whom she got her eyes from. Her brother's boyish grin and the twinkle in his eyes when he is up to something mischievous. The smell of tobacco from Puck and Brody's cigarettes that reminds her of how she scrunches her face in disgust back when they're out in a bar or a pub. Even the crack on the driveway she caused when she got drunk and drove in her bike.

Of course, she is nowhere near being happy since her sister whom she loves dearly has just died. But, she could more than imagine—could feel it in her bones and the depths of her being—all the possibilities in choosing to settle down in the comforts of her hometown. After all, she is nowhere near fulfilling her promise to herself and her sister.

"Where's Santana?" Brittany asked instead cutting the awkward and sullen silence that befell the three friends.

xox

* * *

Santana splashed more water on her face to hide the tear marks as she watched her reflection in the mirror. She tapped her cheeks with trembling fingers a few times to loosen them up before she tried another smile. She watched as the practiced smile still doesn't reach her brown eyes—tired, red, and sore from her muffled crying in the bathroom. She couldn't go out looking like this. She wouldn't subject her kids to seeing their mom looking like this. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, a few more tears and whimpers escaping as much as she tried to get her emotions in check.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Santana frantically wiped her eyes and nervously ran her fingers through her dark silky tresses to make herself more presentable.

"Come in!" she called out, her voice still shaky and more raspy than usual. "I'm sorry for leaving. I was just…" Santana turned to the door to see who had caught her hiding in the bathroom but the lie she was about to tell was caught in her throat as she find herself submerged in cool, soothing blue pools.

"I—Th-there was a giant spider. And it-it attacked my eyes. But… but it's gone now. It, um, flushed itself," Santana stuttered and lied lamely. She usually was a pretty good liar—better than most people, in fact. And yet she couldn't comprehend why she can't, for the life of her, make even a passable lie now.

She bit her lip, on the verge of crying yet again. In addition to being in a morose state due to her wife's passing and the events of the day with Brittany's friend, she now feels insecure and embarrassed for being caught hiding, crying, _and_ lying. That's one of the things she hates most about herself—once she started crying, she can't hold them back.

"I'm going now," Santana informed the blonde, her words clipped by a sob she failed to stifle. She could only hope that the other woman would just let her go and would soon forget this awkward and embarrassing moment. But with no such luck, she found herself caught in a strong embrace.

"Hey. It's okay to be sad," Brittany whispered soothingly to her hair as she closed the door shut with her foot.

In a moment of weakness, Santana let her tears fall in front of another person for the first time and clung more tightly to the middle-Pierce, forgetting the, still now, one-sided animosity between them. All she knew was how safe she felt in Brittany's arms. All she felt was the peace and calmness that envelops her like her _abuela_'s warm and cozy quilt from her childhood.

Caramel hands moved from their tight hold on Brittany's shirt to snake around strong neck to bring the other woman closer down to her and burrow her face under her chin. As Santana let out another whimper, she couldn't help but smell and admire Brittany's natural scent and the faint hint of raspberry. That finally got Santana to snap out of her Brittany trance as she scrambled to put distance between them.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ She just lost her wife, her best friend and the only girl she had ever been with and here she is now, enjoying being comforted far too much by another. _Smelling? Really?_ It is bad enough with any other woman. But this is _Brittany_. Not only was she her wife's much younger sister but the woman is also homophobic, an unreliable sister to her wife, and was one of the people who broke Santana's heart ages ago. Santana mentally chastised herself for giving in to Brittany's charm and her disarming blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," Santana said curtly once she regained her composure.

But Brittany just continued studying her with worry. "You're okay," Brittany stated firmly with a nod, blue eyes never wavering their hold on her own. "_You _are okay," she whispered again.

Santana couldn't help the small smile that formed in her lips at that. It was not the empty question she hated with a passion. She didn't ask the obvious. She didn't ask her to weigh in her problems and try and pry her open, wanting to see her insides and all the pain and anguish only a widow could offer laid out on the table for their own sick and twisted need to feel better and superior than her.

It was a fact, a statement. She _is_ okay. And she is going to be okay.

Santana blushed and bit her lip as Brittany reached out to tuck an unruly curl behind her ear. Electricity shot through her spine as soft, pale fingers grazed slowly and reverently from her cheek to its path behind her ear, staying there a few seconds longer than necessary. She probably lost her mind for real if her body is reacting this way from such an innocent touch.

Santana cleared her throat which finally snapped Brittany's attention to her from wherever dreamland she was in a few seconds ago.

"Thank you," Santana smiled sincerely. "Can we please... pretend this never happened?"

Santana watched as Brittany swallowed a persistent lump in her throat.

"Sure," Brittany answered dejectedly.

Santana scrunched her forehead, confused with the sudden change in the blonde's demeanour and stance.

"I'll see you out there," Santana awkwardly waved goodbye wanting to get away from this uncomfortable in all its comfort moment with Brittany.

xox

* * *

"_I, Lucy Quinn Pierce, of 48__th__ Street, Lima Heights Adjacent, Lima, Ohio, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all prior Wills and Codicils made by me._

"_I am married to Santana Marie Lopez Pierce under the Marriage Equality Act recently passed by the Ohio State Legislature and all references in this Will to my "spouse" and "wife" refer to Santana Marie Pierce._

"_I have two living children named Isabella Patrice Pierce and Samuel Nathaniel Pierce. All references in this Will to my "child" or "children," include the above child or children."_

Santana blinked and stared at the huge family portrait hanging on top of the furnace in their family room. She and Elena had moved her children's toys and games to the cellar to give way to a few more additional chairs for the occasion. She squinted her eyes to search Quinn's smiling form for any sign that could have clued her to this day. The picture had been taken on Christmas day two years prior. Samuel had been two months at the time and Santana still looked a bit pudgy from her pregnancy.

"_I give my entire interest in the real property…"_

She faintly remembered how Quinn asked her if she was getting fat but being the good wife that she is, the same way Quinn had answered her hormonal insecurities about her figure, she simply said, _"You look gorgeous."_

Santana's eyes flickered to Quinn's left cheek, a little more plump than the other. She didn't think any of it at the time when she should have. But Santana merely chocked it off as Quinn simply gaining a bit weight since Santana refused to eat anything if Quinn isn't eating—and being pregnant and hormonal and an ex-Cheerleader denied of most food from high school till college, she really wanted to pig out badly.

That swelling was the only outward indication that her wife had cancer and Santana had failed to recognize it until it was too late. Santana bit her lip coming up with the same conclusion that part of what happened to her wife was her fault over again. She could have-

Santana was snapped out of her self-deprecation when she heard what her wife's attorney and colleague said. _Did he just said…_

Santana blinked once, twice as she watched Attorney Cox hand a pale looking Brittany a white letter envelope. Her mind was still abuzz with thoughts of her wife as she tried to remember what had been mentioned in her wife's Will regarding Brittany.

"Could you please repeat that," Santana interrupted the proceedings.

Attorney Cox gave her a confused look but repeated the last paragraph nonetheless. "I give all of the tangible personal property that I may own at the time of my death, which is not otherwise specifically…"

"I meant, the one with my wife's sister," she amended hastily.

The attorney cleared his throat as he scanned the document for the apt Article.

"I give, devise, and bequeath the sum of $40,000.00 to my sister, Brittany Susan Pierce provided that she stays with my wife and children in their residence for a full ninety (90) consecutive days since my passing. If such condition shall not be met for one reason or the other, this bequest to her shall lapse and the same shall become a part of my residuary estate and shall thus be added to the initial sum of the residue and remainder of my Estate for my wife and children's disposal as hereinafter provided in Article VIII of this Will..."

"…_stays in their residence for a full ninety consecutive days."_

Santana suddenly felt light-headed.

xox

* * *

Cold beads of sweat formed on Brittany's nose and forehead as she replayed her sister's Will on her mind in a constant loop. She may not understand the huge fancy words Quinn and her lawyer used but she's almost 100 per cent certain Quinn wanted her to live under the same roof as her wife and kids. She couldn't even begin to process _what_ exactly was wanted and expected of her much more answer the '_why'_ question of it all.

She looked down at her trembling hand and fingers where she held on tightly to the white envelope the lawyer had given to her. At the back of the envelope, written in Quinn's neat and dignified cursive handwriting, is her name.

Her eyes wandered off to where Santana is sitting, the Latina seemingly in a similar state as Brittany. She watched as Santana stood up in unsteady feet and briskly walked towards the door, almost tripping herself on the way. She knew that body language all too well—running with no real direction other than to get away. Brittany's mind is still alight. Nothing in her mind makes sense. Nothing in her surroundings existed except for the grand double doors that hid Santana's retreating form. She suddenly found herself getting closer and closer to those doors and it was only when she looked down that she realized that she was running.

Brittany reached the hallway, shocked and curious eyes staring at her from the intensity of the slamming of the door but Santana was nowhere to be found.

xox

* * *

Santana played with the hairs at the back of her left ear, the action soothing her a bit—a quirk she had since she was a child whenever she has an intense emotion she could not contain or fully process.

She couldn't believe her wife. She had never been so furious at her—she is aware she had said the exact thing every time she is mad at her but this time, she really meant it. She wanted—fleetingly, might she add—her wife to arise from her grave just so Santana could scream her ears off till they bleed and lash out at her with her vicious, vicious words until she thinks of herself lucky to be dead. Then Santana felt bad and guilt overcame her from such an awful thought. But then she again remembers what Quinn had done, and she was back to being furious.

_What could she possibly want to accomplish?_ She knew Quinn since they were kids and she knew all too well of Quinn's manipulative, conniving ways back in high school and college—it was one of the things they had in common.

How she managed to keep their relationship a secret every time someone gets close to the truth by slinging non-existent dirt at them, destroying every credibility they might have. How she toyed with all the beards she used with talks of 'abstinence,' and 'morality,' and 'having too little wiener to satisfy her'—when in fact, let's face it, any guy has too much dick to satisfy both of them. How they plotted out their coming out to the whole school so no one could topple them from their top spot in the social hierarchy. How she had managed to make the whole university believe that she was indecently proposed to an affair by her old slimy professor who gave her a B- in her Torts class and managed to get him kicked out and revoke his tenure.

Santana paced around the spacious bathroom. She was livid. If there is one thing she knew most about her wife, it was that she never does anything without a reason—a reason that is always favourable to her. _Always._ But unlike any other time, Santana was completely at a loss on this one and that just made her angrier.

_Why would she want us to share our home with an almost complete stranger?_ _Moreover, why would she risk having her own wife and kids breathe the same toxic and homophobic air as her sister's? _

To say that she was boggled would be the biggest understatement of all time. Santana—her whole body stiff and on edge—wanted to vent on someone or something or else she felt she would implode. She wanted to scream, lash out on someone, kick and slap some- …_maybe I can still get a hold of Brittany's friend._

As fate would have it, some poor soul burst into the bathroom, unwittingly placing themselves in hell's path as a sacrificial lamb.

_Brittany._

Santana's nose flared as she threw herself at the blonde bodily delivering a mighty resounding slap to the caught off-guard woman's right cheek. The Latina got frustrated when her other hand was stopped midway towards her other cheek. She managed to connect a few kicks at the taller woman's shins and even successfully delivered a knee near her hip. But her attacks were all for naught as Brittany, having more advantage in both height and strength, successfully pinned her to a wall, her wrists bound by one hand at the top of her head, the other forcing her stomach to the wall and longer legs forcing her own ones open as they stood hip-to-hip both catching their breath from the struggle to get the upper hand.

Santana can see the confusion and frustration on blue eyes but the other woman managed a small smile through her wince. "Ow," Brittany stated while she playfully worked her jaws in a grinding motion to rid her cheek of the pain from the slap.

"Good!" Santana mocked childishly.

Brittany's smile dropped and Santana watched as her expression turned serious. But Brittany didn't say anything else. She didn't get angry at her. She didn't question her. She didn't even try to get a few hits of her own as payback—which would have been easy since Santana's still pinned to the wall in an open and vulnerable state. She just stood there holding her down as if she's waiting for Santana to break down.

And break down she did for the second time in Brittany's arms.

"What do you want from me and my family?" Santana demanded through her tears. "What did you do? Why are you here?"

Brittany's hand that was resting on her stomach slid up to cup her cheek and wipe her tears. "I don't know what you mean," she stated gently.

"What-what was that about then, huh?" the Latina hiccuped.

"I don't know, Santana. I don't know," the blonde whispered genuinely. "But I promise you, I'm not here to hurt you or your family."

Santana felt Brittany slowly move off of her, and it was so confusing to her why she would miss her warmth and weight on her.

She peeked behind her lashes for Brittany's eyes, searching for truth in the surface of those blue pools. "I may not know much and I may get confused a lot and I may not be the best sister in the world, but I'm telling you that I _always_ mean well," she started.

"I'm here for Quinn and for my family, to try and patch things up with them and maybe… even with you…" She whispered the last word as if she was embarrassed but her voice quickly changed to its original quality of sincerity and firmness with no room for doubt. "I know it's too late to say this, but I don't want to miss out on them the same way I missed out on Quinn."

Santana couldn't help the scoff she had let out. She could see in her eyes and hear in her voice that Brittany is telling the truth. But she's still holding on to the thought of Brittany's homophobia and she is set on her belief that close-minded people like her do not turn a complete one-eighty overnight.

"_Please._ You're just in it for the money, aren't you?" she accused. "Either that or you're a masochist who wanted to see how long your straight ass could stand being in close proximity with the poor dyke and her even poorer 'bastard' children!"

Brittany blinked and her heart twitched a bit at the derogatory term that had been used on her a couple of times. "Now you completely lost me," her voice growing louder as she gets more frustrated. "Why would I do that when I'm a unicorn myself."

"A what?"

"Lesbian, Santana," she clarified. "Lebanese. Lady Lover. Capital G-Gay."

It was Santana's turn to get confused as she processed what Brittany was saying and what it implied. "B-but," she stuttered, her voice losing its power, her shoulders sagging from its confrontational poise. "You hated me," she said almost to herself.

"Y-y-you stopped talking to me when Quinn and I came out. You didn't like me," she shook her head disbelievingly. "Y-you hated me!" she finally concluded waving her arms in exasperation, her brain going in overdrive as she thought of another reason why Brittany had avoided her like the plague all those years ago and coming up empty.

Brittany took a deep breath and her expression turned soft as she watched Santana's confusion and hurt. She took a step towards her and lowered her head so she can meet the Latina's wavering gaze. She held her quavering chin with her thumb and pointer finger for good measure so she can be assured that she had the Latina's full attention.

"I never _not_ liked you, Santana…" she breathed out, whispered.

Santana blinked and waited patiently as she watched Brittany's mouth open and close a few times as if she was debating whether or not to say more but no words came out of her parted lips. She felt a bit uncomfortable and nervous all of a sudden as Brittany's blue pools pierce through her as if she's trying to communicate to her something important. And as if on a trance, those eyes slowly flitted, learning every detail of her now flushed face, from the tips of her lashes to the curve of her nose. But time stopped for the both of them when those reverent eyes found its dwelling on her plump lips. Santana unconsciously licked her lips and her hand moved to play with a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling more nervous and oddly excited by the second. With her eyes never wavering from pouty lips, Brittany slowly leaned in, tilting Santana's chin a little.

Santana's eyes widened when the saner part of her mind finally caught on to what's about to happen. "Brittany," she exhaled shakily.

That finally drew Brittany back to earth and she blinked rapidly to clear the haze she was in moments ago. "I'm sorry. I-"

"It's… fine… I guess…" Santana's words were unsure. "You were…" Santana searched her brain on why Brittany would want to kiss her. "Trying to prove you're a lesbian. I get that." she finally settled. But was she really _just_ trying to prove she's not straight?

"Yeah…" Brittany drawled out. "I was… just… what you said," she cleared her throat as she put more distance between them.

"I'm just… gonna go and see if they are done," Santana half-lied lamely, wanting to get away from Brittany and the way her body is reacting to her.

"Wait!" Brittany called out to her retreating form. Santana inhaled deeply as she gathered more strength to survive being in close proximity with the blonde at this moment without losing her sanity.

"What?" Santana asked as she turned back to face the blonde.

"I… So, are we good?" Brittany asked scratching the back of her head. "Look, I may not understand what Quinn wants from me exactly but I kinda want to honour her request… It's been a long time since I've done anything for her and I really want to do this last thing for her." Brittany started as she scuffed her shoe on the tiled floor, not meeting Santana's gaze.

_Oh. Thaaat._ Amidst Brittany coming out, and Brittany wanting to kiss her, and Santana momentarily wondering what Brittany's lips would taste like, Santana forgot they were having that conversation.

"I mean, you're nice and I really want to be your friend again and your kids are really nice and cool and I want to be their friend too and," she paused when she realized she was rambling. Brittany finally sighed and gathered the courage to look up at Santana. "What I'm trying to say is—even without the money—I really wanted to do this one thing for Quinn. But, of course, I won't do it without your blessing."

Santana blinked—her anger at Quinn coming back to the forefronts of her mind in full force. _Of fucking course._ Quinn didn't even have the decency to ask her if she was okay with her sister staying with her and their children to play whatever game Quinn wanted them to play. _It's not like __**her**__ kids and I are part of this set up,_ she thought bitterly, mentally rolling her eyes.

She weighed Brittany's request through. She still have reservations with the thought of Brittany being with her family 24-7 for the next three months—but now, for a completely different reason—a reason she, herself, could not fathom. But it's not like Brittany was asking for the unreasonable. She understood perfectly well what Brittany might be feeling. And how could Santana really say no to that? But she had only one question left.

"Are you sure you want to leave your whole life for _three months_ just to be able to play Quinn's game?"

"Oh." Brittany blinked. _Thaaat._ It didn't take long before the blonde finally added, as if she herself was shocked with her own answer and the resolution in her voice, "I guess I do."

Santana had to chuckle at Brittany's scrunched face. "Well, I guess we're gonna be housemates then."

She was almost blinded when the blonde's face lit up and a huge grin formed her lips.

"I guess we are."

xox

* * *

A/N #2: Sorry if this chapter is way too long. I would cut it in half but I kind of want to start with the actual story on the next chapter so… I hope you like this chapter, anyway.

Just a friendly reminder: show some love and support to authors and stories you like by taking some time leaving a review the same way authors take their time to offer the fandom stories to keep us through this #bram fiasco. :)


	6. Chapter 5: Day One

A/N: Finally! Haha I have awoken from my deep slumber. LOL Thank you for the reviews, favourites, and follows!

Special shout-outs to **Lolathe17th** and **stcarbythesea **for reminding me and motivating me to update this fic! :) This chapter is for you lovely ladies. :)

Also, I got some really well thought criticisms, suggestions, and concerns which I'm really thankful for and I feel the need to address two of them here instead since they don't have an account here on ffdotnet.

Re: **Realism and Believability**

Old Gregg: Firstly, thank you for the compliment. It really means a lot. :)

Secondly, I don't plan on disfavouring Quinn's character, or at least, I hope I won't get to do so. I would like to take my time with this story—as much time the characters needed for the whole plot to fall organically without dragging them so much to the point it gets boring and repetitive. It's going to be a slow burn and I hope my readers would stick around for everything to unfold but don't worry, I would throw cookies along the way like in the last chapter. It's kind of a popular belief in the fandom that Brittana are "soulmates" (although I, myself, don't believe in such), so I needed that "almost kiss" scene from last chapter to build the foundation that they are indeed soulmates and that the attraction is not just one-sided.

About Brittany, she's a tough cookie and there's so much going on for her like Rachel, worrying about Santana, and making up for lost times with her family (which will be addressed as the story goes) that I feel she still hasn't been able to take a breather and just sit down and _process_ that her sister _is_ dead. This story is as much about love as it is about moving on and letting go. Nevertheless, it's still a love story first and foremost. I'm aware the story is rather complicated and there are a lot of subplots going on as early as now, but that was the challenge in my part and I hope I won't fail in addressing each and every subject matter.

Re: **Synopsis ** Guest: Thank you so much for your suggestion and the compliment. That was really helpful. Do you think the new synopsis is catchy and interesting enough? I realize I'm awful at writing summaries so if you have any suggestions, please help a poor soul out. :(

Re: **Late (I know, pale choice of wording) Update** With all that has been happening with Glee, i.e. Bram, Heather's previous interviews, and the writers in general, honestly, canon!Brittany has been forever ruined for me to the point where I don't even want them to get back together even if Heather does stay in Season 5 after her pregnancy. It was really hard to get my motivation back to write again for Brittana. But fabulous people like **Lolathe17th,** **stcarbythesea,** and **Leggomyeggo**, and other people who may still be interested in reading this story, made me realize that I have never really shipped canon!Brittana per se but the Brittana I read in fics and the Brittana that still take residence in my mind. That and that writing is my life, thus this new chapter. :)

Since some of you seem to like—weirdly enough—long chapters, I hope this one would somehow make up for my slacking. That's all, and I hope you'd enjoy this chapter. :)

Disclaimer: I do **NOT** own Glee. All mistakes are mine, will proofread later, etc.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Day One**

* * *

Brittany laid on her back, her limbs sprawled out in the huge, unfamiliar bed.

She barely slept a wink. She didn't know if it's the distressing sounds coming from the next room all night or just her body still adjusting to her appointed bed for the next three months that kept sleep at bay. She presumed it's the latter since the walls seem thick and it's most probably just her mind playing tricks at her—still, she could have sworn she could hear something traveling through the walls every few seconds.

Brittany blinked in the shadows as she retraced the patterns of the flesh-coloured ceiling with her eyes for the hundredth time. Sam had gone back to Columbus much to her dismay. If he had been here, he would have been enough a distraction from her murky thoughts—his entire face, a new canvas for her stick figure drawings in permanent ink.

But alas, she laid in the darkness waiting for dawn. Waiting for the time to get out for her early morning jog. Waiting for the time to rid herself of the suffocating air that engulfs her. Her ears strained to hear something else rather than the deafening silence—fighting tenants, laughing drunkards, passing cars and taxi cabs, anything but. She can't help but think what she would have done if she were in New York. She wouldn't have thought twice in getting up and starting the remainder of the week.

In the city, there are no days—no start of the day or end of the day—the clock is always ticking, the days converging with each other.

But Lima is not New York. And she still felt like she's walking on eggshells around here. So she blinked again and waited. Her head slowly turned to the bedside table as her eyes readjusted itself in the darkness. There sat the sealed white envelope the attorney had given her and the mere sight alone instantly broke her reserve.

She couldn't take the suffocating air any longer. She immediately bolted up and threw in some sweats and running shoes from her disorganized traveling bag she had yet to put in the guest room's drawers—still subconsciously waiting for her rational mind to come back and convince her to back out from this insane and bizarre situation Quinn had roped her into.

As she walked out to the hallway, Brittany paused when she passed by the adjacent room. Her hand lingered in front of the wooden door, long fingers barely touching the intricate carvings of flowers and petals. She balled her hand into a fist when another broken sound escaped from the room before she had to physically force her hand to ease up and relax. And with a heavy heart, she grazed the door with the pads of her fingers one last time before she urged her feet forward and out of the house.

xox

Brittany took deep, lungful breaths as she jogged in place and stretched her limbs at the front lawn. She didn't take her time warming up like usual and she was off in an instant. She figured the fresh air of Lima would help clear the fog that had seeped into each and every crevices of her mind, permanently muddling her every thought ever since she received that devastating call from her mother.

She had never been to this side of Lima in all her childhood though she had been in the adjacent neighbourhood where the Puckerman's live.

Lima Heights Adjacent is an exclusive and extravagant neighbourhood where the most influential and powerful lives—where the out-of-towners, the "Barbie's and Ken's" as her and her friends like to call them from way back, resides. The ones who live in a big city with enough dough to buy another mansion in a small town to escape the hustle and bustle of living in the city. Back then, Brittany hated these people. But deep down, she's secretly jealous of them when she would have sold a limb to get out of Lima and lose herself amongst the crowds of the city that never sleeps.

Brittany knew Santana had also lived somewhere around here with her parents since she was a child, but in their case, Santana's father was an ambitious doctor who had chosen to settle here to head the staff of the Lima General Hospital. The blonde wondered in passing if the Lopez's still lived here since she didn't see the Latina's parents at the funeral—not that she had seen them at all.

Brittany would bet an eye that Santana barely saw them as well back when they were young. Santana had practically lived with them since her and Quinn became friends. She had heard the Latina complain to her sister a few times how her parents were always busy at work or out of town. And even at times, when Santana's not supposed to be there or when Quinn's not supposed to have any sleepovers, Brittany would still hear them whispering in the dead of night, giggling and calling each other's names in a hushed scream.

Brittany shook her head adamantly to give herself respite from such disturbing memories.

Halfway through her jog, dawn finally broke in the distant horizon, painting her surroundings with subdued light. She let her feet carry her through the cemented terrains as her mind wandered off on its own journey—one with a more jarring and convoluted path. She only came back to her senses when she had stopped to catch her breath and was shocked to find herself in front of the arch that led towards the cemetery. She took a few unsure steps—one, pause; two, pause; three, pause—before she let her feet carry her further down the stone paths, her eyes scanning for a newly covered grave.

It took her almost half an hour of going up and down each pathway to find it. The grave was located in a slightly private spot, hidden from the paths by a line of wild and untrimmed bushes. There on the white block of marble read: "Lucy Quinn Pierce, Life Connoisseur."

Brittany scrunched her brows, not knowing what that meant. She shuffled from one foot to the other, not knowing what she should do now that she found where her sister rests. It was _just_ there. A huge block of stone with letters and numbers. Should she say a prayer? About what? Should she talk to the stone? Why? Where should she look? The stone or the rectangular shaped soil in front of it?

Brittany cleared her throat and took a deep breath for courage. "H-hi," she said shyly, almost to herself. She immediately looked around her, not wanting to get caught talking to an inanimate object. When she didn't see anyone, the blonde shook her head and laughed loudly towards the sky, breaking the rhythmic tune of the hidden cicadas and frogs around the plateau.

_This is insane_. "_I_ am insane!" Brittany laughed, voicing out her thoughts—thinking that if she hears how ridiculous she's being, it would be enough a reason to dissuade herself from letting her emotions run wild. She shook her head again, a silly grin still plastered on her face, as she started to retrace her steps back out of the graveyard. She had just taken a few steps before the smile on her face slacked, and she turned back to the newly patched ground.

She paused.

And waited.

Her whole body rigid, her eyes shut tightly, she balled her hands into a fist trying to fight the first signs of dampness behind her closed lids. Despite her previous resolve, Brittany broke her promise to Quinn as she sprinted towards the direction of the town proper towards her parents' home.

She ran away.

xox

A muffled ringing cut through the silence for the hundredth time and counting.

"_You've reached Attorney Lucy Quinn Pierce. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave your concern and your number after the beep so I can call you back._" _Beep_.

There was silence in the room for a couple of seconds before the ringing started again.

"_You've reached Attorney Lucy Quinn Pierce. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave your concern and your number after the beep so I can call you back._" _Beep_.

Santana sniffled and exhaled through her nose before she cleared her throat. "Hey, babe. I miss you terribly," she smiled sadly under the blanket that was her fortress which shielded her from the cold and her reality. "I've been sleeping in your side of the bed," she informed the voicemail proudly as she picked on the now loose thread on the bedcover. She had been picking on it since she got to bed after she saw her children to sleep and she had to smile at how much she had accomplished in just a few hours with her trimmed nails.

"You know how much I hate my side of the bed," Santana added with a frown. "So… finders-keepers, losers-weepers." She laughed and tried to block out the reason why she couldn't hear the responding laugh from the other side of the line. She shifted from her lying position on her side so she could feel the pillows she had placed on her side of the bed touch her back before she settled.

Santana didn't like how huge their bed felt now. She hadn't always felt that way, though. But for the last six months and twelve days, she had been sleeping cuddled on Quinn's chest on her single person-hospital bed or curled up on the armchair of the room, or sleeping on any tight surface she could lean her head onto—may it be a chair, a table, a floor, or a wall. And now, the bed is too big, the mattress is too soft, the height isn't right, and the sheets are too cold. It's all too much, it's anything _but_ comfortable. And Santana _hated_ it. She would have preferred sleeping on the couch in the entertainment room or even the soft rug in front of the fireplace. But she didn't want her kids to catch her sleeping there. They would surely ask questions—at least, Izzie would—and the Latina doesn't want a repeat of her talk with Izzie anytime soon, thank you very much.

"The kids are doing okay. Izzie's still her diva self like her mommy," she continued, smirking. "But Sammy still hasn't said his first word but don't worry, we're still working on that." Santana sighed, shifting again under the cover. "I-"

_Beep._

Santana grumbled irritatingly when she heard that godforsaken sound. She was never fond of it before when Quinn had to go in long business trips and she was not fond of it now. The Latina automatically tapped the speed dial before she impatiently waited for her wife's serious and self-assured voice again.

"_You've reached Attorney Lucy Quinn Pierce. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave your concern and your number after the beep so I can call you back._" _Beep_.

"Hey, it's me again," Santana smiled tenderly, her mood changing as soon as she heard her wife's voice. "I'm sorry, my message got cut. I just called again to say I love you. I know you hated it when I don't so… there. I love you."

Santana paused.

"Well, I guess that's it for now. Bye," she said awkwardly, just realizing how pathetic she's being. She hung up before she could hear the sound she detests with burning passion. She knew she's being ridiculous but she doesn't need to be reminded of how ridiculous she's being.

She brought her phone from her ear and laid it down on Quinn's pillow next to her head. She decided to put all her attention on another thread snugly tracing the pattern of the sheet she's laying on. She glanced every now and then on her phone as her nail went to work before all her resolve crumbled—not that she even cared the slightest.

A muffled ringing cut through the silence for a hundred and third time and counting.

"_You've reached Attorney Lucy Quinn Pierce. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave your concern and your number after the beep so I can call you back._" _Beep_.

xox

Four years of accumulated dust danced and rejoiced at the first glimpse of sunlight.

Martin Pierce stood at the driveway as he waited for the dust to settle.

_Now what?_, he asked himself, full of trepidation as his eyes scanned nervously the piles and piles of work that needs to be done ahead of him. The garage now looks more like a storage unit than anything else—a garbage dump, to be more precise. Stacks of old boxes line the walls from top to bottom, tools he didn't even know he owns clutter the work tables, rusty bikes and worn out children's toys stacked unsteadily on top of each other as if the structures would collapse the second he breathed close to them. And in the middle of all these, broken furniture and appliances and skateboards and what-nots littered each and every other available space. Martin was certain when he placed the very first broken furniture in the garage back then, that he had every intention of fixing it. But life happens and like the case with each and every object in this garage, they all, sadly, remain just that: an intention.

He normally would rather play with his grandkids, or watch sports and reruns of late night shows, or tend the garden, or just laze around with a book and eating his way to a scrumptious close-call heart attack. But his partner in life got to the garden first, and his grandkids are not visiting today, and the rest wouldn't keep his mind away from his miserable thoughts.

He slowly crouched down to pick up a nearby long object, which was a bat, and held it in front of him as he poked the nearest box from where he stood just outside the garage. He poked again and almost had a heart-attack when a voice suddenly spoke near him.

"Careful there, old man. That thing might bite back."

Martin swiftly turned around and saw his eyes, bluer than his but nevertheless the same size and shape, staring at him with mirth. Like his own, they look tired and glassy with unshed tears.

"Peanut," he smiled as he opened his arms to his middle child, savouring the feeling of holding her into his arms like any parent who hasn't hold their young'uns for far too long. He tapped her back a few times before they let go of each other. "Why so early?"

"What are you talking about? I have always been awake this early," Brittany laughed.

"Not always," he smiled almost sadly. He barely knew anything about his daughter anymore. He understood that she has her own life now and that children can't always be like Quinn or Sam who would still let them into their lives and who would still come back every now and then to share their new lives with them. And even though he respects her decision, it still doesn't make it any less painful. "I remember you always slept until the very last second before going to school. I had to make a second trip to the school district after taking your brother and sister," he laughed at the memory.

But Brittany's face suddenly turned serious. "Yeah, well, not everyone can be cheerleaders and athletes," she bitterly snapped.

Martin's eyes widened, not expecting the tone in her voice. It's true, though. Quinn had been a cheerleader in high school and Sam had played soccer in junior school and they both had practice before their classes so they _had_ to be early. But Brittany has always been a bit different from her siblings. She had never shown interest in school or in any other extra-curricular activities. And it's not from the lack of support on their part as parents. Nor Brittany's physique as well. Truth be told, Brittany had been the most physical of them three. She had been taking dance lessons since she could barely walk and had always been restless—running around and climbing trees, preferring physical activities rather than sitting around and playing video games and dolls. But one day, she just grew up entirely and so suddenly, his baby is no longer.

When he had to take his other two children to school, she would sneak away, preferring to walk to school because as she says, that's what grown-ups do. She still went to her dance classes in the local gym but she also took up sports climbing and other extreme sports without their knowledge. She had expressed desire for motocross and though they feared for her safety, they gave in, thinking it better to see her through it and discuss safety precautions with her rather than her going behind their backs yet again and becoming reckless on her own. They should have seen it coming since their middle child had always been outgoing and restless. But she had also been innocent and bubbly and talkative and friendly. And Martin and Elena started to worry about her as she slowly kept to herself more and more.

If Martin had to pinpoint the exact day their daughter had changed, it was the day after Quinn came out. They had put young Brittany and Sam to sleep early the night before so the teenagers could talk to them openly and freely. He remembered the night being light and a joyous occasion rather than serious with a lot of crying but nevertheless they had been up till the early sign of dawn. But he woke up, after about three hours of sleep, to the sound of loud crashing on the backyard only to see all of Brittany's toys near the compost pit.

She was only eleven years old back then but that was the day little Brittany decided she was no longer a child.

He was taken back from his trip down memory lane by a loud sigh. "I'm sorry, dad," Brittany breathed out, her shoulders slumping despondently.

"It's okay," he smiled understandingly at her before looking back at the garbage in front of them. He frowned at the mere sight.

"So, do you need a hand?"

"Twenty, if I'm being honest," he sighed dramatically. "But a hand will do," he glanced back at his daughter and winked at her causing her to laugh with a childish glint in her eyes. Martin's smile grew when he saw a tiny glimpse of his baby behind those tired, grown up eyes.

Yes, she will always be his little Peanut.

xox

Santana blinked once as her fingers glided tenderly over the cotton smoothness of the dress she's wearing. The digital alarm clock read 07:58.38. Twice. Now it read 07:58.41.

She had long stopped herself from picking on the threads of their bedspread. She had long found a better way to keep her fingers occupied and her mind from running wild. She was even looking forward to the day—at least, that's what she had told herself. Nevertheless, she had to believe it for her children's sake. She had already made herself more presentable, putting her trusty concealer into work.

She knew she'd be best of friends with her concealer in no time given how much she had been relying on it these past few days.

When the clock finally read 08:00.00, Santana jumped off the bed like she had been burned and glided towards the door that would grant her freedom from losing her mind. She paused for a moment to gather the muscles of her face to form a happy smile, crinkling the outer sides of her eyes for effect. She didn't even take a breath not wanting to mess up the mask she had kept in place before she was out the door and into the hallway, padding down to where Nathaniel is.

"Sammy… good morning, my little knight," she cooed to the already wide-awake boy who was playing silently with his stuffed bunny named Ozzo and a stuffed car.

"Can you say Ozzo for me, baby?" she asked hopefully—despite how many times they had been denied—as she lifted the doll to show him. "Oz-zo?" Samuel merely blinked looking at the toy as if expecting _it_ to say something. Santana sighed but her smile never left her face. _Another time, then_.

She placed the toy on his shelf before turning back to her youngest and lifting him in her arms. "That's okay, baby," she smiled down lovingly at her son before she perked up her voice. "So, are you ready for another fun filled day of slaying a dragon and rescuing your princess sister?" Santana made her voice dramatic as she glided down the hallway and waved her other arm as if holding a wand, sprinkling the hallway with magical dusts on her way to Izzie's room. And just as she sought after, Nathaniel squealed his high pitched excited squeal and waved the car in his hand on top of his head like a sword.

"Mommy, nooooo," Isabella whined, pulling the covers over her head.

"But I'm not your mommy, I'm your fairy godmother," Santana teased, knowing her daughter would get up now that she realizes they're playing as early as now.

And like clockwork, Isabella threw away her covers and sat up, her big, brown eyes awake, alit, and twinkling and her smile wide and welcoming.

Santana scrunched her brows and pouted when her daughter's expression slacked to a frown.

"No, you're not," Izzie pouted in disappointment, mirroring her mother's facial expression as she studied what her mother was wearing. "You're _mama_," she stated innocently.

Santana's face paled, a horrified look replacing her once cheery disposition. And her fear turned into a reality when she looked down and saw that she's indeed still wearing Quinn's favourite sundress.

"I-I-" Santana didn't know what to say. She had never been so embarrassed. It's not like her own daughter—her own _four year old_ daughter—was judging her. There was no way Izzie would have known why Santana was wearing her other mother's dress. For all she knew, Isabella would have probably just thought that her mommy didn't have any more clean clothes so she was borrowing mama's. But still, Santana couldn't believe she had been this careless as to let other people see what she had been doing on her own. It didn't feel ridiculous or sad when she had worn her wife's dresses in their bedroom. They were soft and comfortable, and they felt like Quinn. But now, seeing her child's reaction to what she is wearing, seeing herself through Izzie's eyes, Santana suddenly felt small. She felt a tear escape her eyes and she had to excuse herself from her children.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll just go get changed," she said quickly as she put down little Samuel beside his sister and bolted out straight into the master's bedroom.

"_Fuck_," she whispered once she was inside, letting a few more tears escape her eyes as she leaned on the wooden door. The Latina looked around and saw all of Quinn's clean dresses lying strategically around the room—places she knew Quinn leaves all of her dirty laundry. She felt like she was hyperventilating so she quickly crossed the room and towards Quinn's side of the bed and remove Quinn's button up shirt Santana didn't have the heart to wash from under her wife's pillow. She inhaled her better-half's faint scent until her heart slowed down to its regular beat.

Despite still feeling silly about herself, she couldn't hide from her children the whole day since she still needed to feed them so she quickly changed to her own clothes: a booty short, and a tight shirt. She wiped her eyes and combed her hair with her fingers feeling more silly for getting embarrassed around her own children before she opened the door.

The Latina smiled at the sight that beheld her. There in front of her, stood sister and brother, hand in hand—one sucking four chubby fingers into his mouth, the other twiddling her toes together—and both looking at her with sad, puppy eyes.

"I'm sorry, mommy. I didn't mean to make you cry," Izzie pouted as if she was on the verge of crying herself.

Santana smiled tenderly at the two precious angels before her as she knelt in front of them, meeting them eye-to-eye. She cradled each cheek tenderly with her palms as she pressed warm kisses on their little foreheads. "You have nothing to be sorry about, my babies. Mommy was just being silly, nothing more," she assured Izzie and even Samuel who, although still refused to speak, Santana knew could understand them.

"You were pretty in mama's clothes," Isabella added shyly, still not meeting her mommy's eyes.

"Really?" Santana asked hopefully, playfully—a genuine smile in her face, wanting to further assure Izzie that she's not mad or sad because of her.

Round, brown eyes eventually flitted towards her mother's and young Isabella smiled at the tenderness and love she saw in them.

"Really," Izzie smiled.

xox

Brittany immediately felt gross and sticky when she slowed down to a walk as she neared her late older sister's home. All she wanted was to take a long, hot shower after her jog and the unexpected and additional workout her father had roped her into.

Not like they had finished anything at all. They had lifted a third of the junk on the driveway before they had to place them all back into the garage again since her father still couldn't decide what exactly he wanted to do with them. But he had offered her a nice, cold beer afterwards and they talked for a while and it wasn't so bad.

It actually went quite well despite how they had started their attempt to bond. Until he suggested that it would be a good father and daughter bonding time to clean the garage together and fix what can be fixed. "It could be a daily or weekly thing between us, just you and me, same time-same place," he had said. And he was just too excited at the prospect that Brittany didn't have the heart to tell him no.

But then she thought it probably wouldn't be that bad since she could have some time away from Santana and get her feelings and priorities straight. That and she did want to patch her relationship with her parents. Plus, she had eyed her old racing bike at the back of the garage earlier and the prospect of putting it back into shape and riding it again excited her.

Yes, it wasn't so bad. But for now, she wanted that nice, long, hot shower. She salivated at the thought of all those steam massaging her aching muscles as she entered the large foyer but she was rooted on her spot by the sight of perfect, round globes swaying from side to side, hypnotizing her.

_Make that a long, __**cold**__ shower_, Brittany thought grimly, her eyes never bowing down from its staring contest with Santana's ass. The Latina was bent down on the couch where she was searching for a toy Samuel had left there. The action was innocent but from where Brittany's standing, she could swear it's anything _but_ innocent.

Santana finally stood up and turned towards Brittany's direction and now blue eyes were immediately drawn like magnets towards dark, perky tits peeking through the white shirt.

"Oh, hey there, Brittany," Santana greeted politely but all Brittany could do was stare.

"Tiiiiiiitttsss," Brittany drawled out unresponsively.

"What?!" Santana asked with a horrified look.

Brittany finally managed to blink back the lust-fuelled haze and cleared her throat. "I mean, _it's_ okay."

"Huh?" Santana asked, now confused.

"My day, it's okay," Brittany clarified. She realized Santana didn't ask how her day was but it was the best lie she could come up with given her brain still felt like goo.

"O-kaayyy," was all Santana said as she frowned, her face still showing that of confusion.

"I'm just… shower," Brittany excused herself, not bothering on trying to string together the words into a proper sentence as she ran towards her designated room.

"Come down when you're done. Breakfast is ready," she heard Santana call up to her but she was already too far away and still hot and bothered to answer back without making a fool of herself yet again.

xox

Brittany came down feeling refreshed and a lot better after her shower. She argued to herself that her libido was just acting up since she hadn't gone without sex this long. _I mean, four days is long, right?_

She smiled when she came to a halt at the archway leading towards the huge kitchen. The little man was sat on the kitchen floor with a spatula and a plastic bowl in hand, banging them together to form a loud, annoying, off-beat sounds only he thinks is good. Santana, like any good mother, bobbed her gorgeous head to the beat of the spatula and bowl, as she mixed dried vegetables in a huge bowl while lady princess sat on the breakfast table, a sturdy, pink-painted wooden box under her to make up for her height, drawing and colouring on a piece of paper with her glitter pens.

Santana had her head tilted to her shoulder as she talked on the phone nestled there in hushed whispers.

"Yeah, hold on a sec," the Latina finally said. "Izzie, Uncle D likes to talk to you," she called out as she put down the now made salad on the breakfast table.

"Uncle D!" Isabella squealed waving both hands in a '_gimme, gimme'_ motion at her mother.

"Brittany! What are you doing standing there?" Santana laughed, shaking her head, when she finally saw Brittany standing under the arch, leaning on the wall. "Please, sit down."

"I was just admiring your family," Brittany stated, embarrassed of getting caught staring at them like some weirdo, as she sat herself on the breakfast table. "They're adorable."

Santana laughed heartily as she lifted Samuel off the floor—spatula and all—and onto the high chair next to Brittany. She then sprinkled some of the cut up vegetables on the high chair and added a small handful of Cheerios. "I bet you would think otherwise soon enough. They're the worst!" the Latina joked. But the smile and love in her eyes as she gazed at her two children told a different story.

Brittany just sat there and admired the ruckus around her, a table full of delicious home-made meal forgotten. Izzie continued to babble on the phone, talking animatedly about school and her imaginary friends and letting out a fit of giggles every now and then which reminded her of a teenage Santana. Santana was sat on the other side of little Samuel saying "ma-ma" slowly and repeatedly, looking at her son hopefully while Sammy merely found it hilarious to grab some cut up lettuce and carrots and force feed them to Santana, which the Latina happily obliged. Eventually, Santana gave up altogether on getting Samuel to talk as they fed each other the food on Samuel's high chair.

Her heart ached and twisted inside her chest for some reason, but still Brittany couldn't look away from the wonder that is her sister's family.

"_They're perfect," _Quinn's voice echoed in Brittany's head, reminding her of the random calls she had shared with her sister.

And as the blonde sat there, watching lady princess, and little man, and Santana, Brittany couldn't help but agree with her older sister.

_They are, indeed_.

With an onslaught of a hard, cold truth of a realization, Brittany finally forced herself to look away, frowning slightly at the empty plate before her.

_This is not my family. And they never will be._

Brittany excused herself silently, leaving the happy family in their bubble and padded up to the guest room. She sat on the bed with her head on her hands, blinking back the tears begging to be let out. But Brittany stilled her heart as her gaze flitted through the room. Her dark blue duffel bag still sat on the corner, a few of its contents spilling out from the open zipper. The guest room closet mocking her with its monstrosity begging to be filled with her belongings. And there, sat on the bedside table, was the slightly crumpled white envelope calling out to her, encouraging her to pick it up and read its contents.

Brittany quickly snatched it from its perch and put it inside the drawer of the bedside table. Trapping it in the darkness like she does will all her warring emotions. Sighing loudly but without the burden lifting off of her shoulders, Brittany threw herself backwards towards the soft mattress, plunging herself into its cold embrace, deciding it better to lock herself inside the room until she decided on her next move.

xox

Santana's head suddenly jolted causing two sets of groans to break into the silence of the room. The weight on her chest shifted a bit before it settled back near her heart. She was still in the entertainment room, the mini-theatre showing the menu to 'Iron Giant'. It was a pretty old 2-D cartoon but her kids still loved it despite the insane amount of 3D-animation they had in their movie catalogue.

She looked down and saw both Nathaniel and Isabella drooling on her shirt—one of her hands, cradling Samuel's head into her chest and the other around Izzie's small back, pulling her closer to her side. Their position was awkward to say the least and Santana figured that's probably why she had been startled awake.

She had the option to get up and carry Samuel and Izzie to bed but Santana chose to revel in the quiet moment with her children for a little while. They were so innocent and peaceful. So much _life_ ahead of them. And Santana's heart quenched at the reminder that her wife could no longer be there to share the joy and pride of watching them grow.

"Did I wake you?" A voice asked in the darkness.

Santana turned her head towards the grand double doors and saw the silhouette of a figure leaning into the ancient wood. Santana smiled as Brittany finally emerged from the darkness and sat her long, lean frame into the armchair next to her head.

"No, you did not," she assured the blonde. "You didn't eat breakfast till dinner. Had you been in your room all day?"

The blonde paused for a few beats before chuckling and shaking her head. "I slept the day away. It was hard not to when the bed is so inviting and you're deprived of sleep for so long."

Santana knew there was some truth to it but she could also see that the taller woman isn't being completely honest. From the light coming from the television, the brunette could notice dark circles around tired, blue eyes. But Santana bit back her observation to herself.

"Do you need help with them?"

Santana gazed down at the peaceful, sleeping forms of her children before looking back at Brittany. "Please."

Brittany immediately got up and carefully transferred Isabella in her arms and waited for her to lead their way. After they tucked both kids to their respective beds, Santana trudged back down the stairs and to the entertainment room to properly close the mini-theatre, with a still silent Brittany tracing her steps like a lost puppy. As she waited for the huge flat screen to tuck itself back to the ceiling, Santana got more anxious at the thought of being alone with Brittany.

She had chosen not to think about their almost kiss. After all, she was lonely and alone and Brittany is the closest thing she can find next to her wife. It's not because she's attracted to Brittany—no, it's not that at all. She argued—she was almost sure- No. She was _pretty_ _sure_, that if it had been Sam who was comforting her at that moment and leaned down to kiss her too, the Latina would have reacted the same. Yes, Santana was _certain_ that that was just the case.

And as for Brittany, well, Santana still can't decide why the taller woman had acted the way she did. But it's not as troubling to think that the blonde just wanted to comfort her and it's the only way she could think of.

The silent whirring stopped as the screen snapped to its place. Santana almost frowned at the digital universal controller in her hands when she realized there was nothing else left for her to do there. But Brittany's still standing stiffly near the doors as if she's battling with herself. She's not sure if the blonde wanted to talk to her and she just couldn't decide how to start. Or maybe she's just waiting for Santana to leave and go to bed so she can have the entertainment room to herself.

Santana sighed dejectedly and plopped down on the couch with her legs tucked under her, deciding it best to wait for Brittany to make the first move. If Brittany wanted her to leave, she would most likely give her a hint, like, ask if she's still not sleepy or ask her straight-forward if she could watch television by herself.

Finally, Brittany moved from where she's standing and sprawled herself lazily on the same armchair she had sat earlier. Santana watched her boring holes onto the wall in front of her and waited for her to speak but nothing came from the blonde but her unsteady and quiet breathing.

Santana couldn't take the awkwardness any longer, and she opened her mouth to say something—anything—but was shocked with what left her mouth instead. "Why did you ignore me back then?"

Brittany's neck cracked with the power and rapidness of her head snapping towards her that Santana worried whether she broke it. But Brittany just stared at her like a fish out of the water. "W-what?" she finally squeaked, taken aback by the question.

Santana didn't see it coming either, but she should have known her curiosity would get the better of her at some point after their talk yesterday. After Brittany had assured her that she never hated her nor that it had anything to do with her sexuality. But the Latina didn't know she would give in this soon.

"When you were a kid, we were so close but then you changed and you stopped talking to me and Quinn," Santana clarified as she tugged the hairs at the back of her left ear without pulling them from its roots.

Santana watched as Brittany opened and closed her mouth. Her eyes and head were turned in the Latina's general direction but she knew the blonde was not looking at her but through her. She knew she's lost in her own head. Her mind battling on what to say. When the chaos settled in those blue eyes, there was resolve in them, and Santana immediately knew that the blonde was about to lie to her.

"You know what, just forget I asked. It doesn't matter, anyway." And it didn't. There was no point in reliving and prodding past wounds especially when there are fresh, new wounds that need their tending.

Brittany merely nodded once, her eyes forlorn before she went back to boring holes into the walls. When the blonde still didn't speak after a few minutes, Santana got up to go to bed—or rather their room. Santana froze as her hands were about to reach for the knobs of the door when Brittany finally broke her silence. Her voice was so soft and grim, Santana wouldn't hear her if it weren't for the silence that engulfs them and the solid walls carrying the sound towards her ears, amplifying its volume.

"I'd like to carry on with Quinn's wish," Brittany whispered into the room, as if she didn't mind whether or not Santana heard her. "I'm going to stay for the three-month time and then I would leave you to your lives."

"O-kay," Santana drawled out, confused why the blonde's telling her this when they have already talked about the same thing yesterday. But when the taller woman finally met her eyes, Santana understood. Brittany hadn't really thought about her wife's request yesterday—the implication and weight of such a request and everything it entails. Santana could empathize how hard it probably was for the blonde to put her own life on hold—her love life, her career, the present and future she had built for herself—and for what?

_And for what?_

"You know you don't have to. She would understand," Santana stated just as softly.

Brittany merely shook her head, eyes glassy and still unseeing. "I think I know why Quinn wanted me here," she continued ominously.

"Why?" Santana asked, breathed out shakily, swallowing a lump in her throat.

But the blonde merely offered her a small, sad smile, studying her for a minute before slumping back down to the cushions of the armchair, hiding herself from brown, inquisitive eyes.

xox

Brittany found herself in the middle of the cemetery in the dead of the night—the moon and stars her only light as her eyes flitted through every detail of the marble headstone.

Her huge duffel bag had been packed—or at least, the bag had been zipped close and all her belongings had been crammed inside—and everything else had been placed back to where she had found them. She had been knocking at the master's bedroom for ten minutes before she noticed that the little man's door was slightly ajar. Thinking Santana was in there with her son, Brittany crept towards the room but found it empty. She had only intended to find out where little Samuel had gone to, thinking back to how she had first seen the child, Brittany was determined to search the whole lot and beyond to find the boy. She didn't have to go further before she was treated with the sight of mother and children huddled together in front of the television asleep. The children are snuggled contentedly and protectively into Santana's arms but it was the look on the older woman's face and the sounds she was making under her breath that had pulled at Brittany's heartstrings the most.

One final farewell to Santana—just one measly goodbye—and Brittany would be off to New York, living the epitome of her dream as an artist and performer. Critics would love her, New Yorkers and the whole world would know her name, her colleagues would look up to her. If Brittany had been waiting for her chance at the spotlight, this was _it_. And it could only make or break her.

And then there was Santana—or rather, her feelings for her sister's widow. Looking at the bond between mother and children, Brittany had a fleeting vision of her and Santana together as wife and wife, cuddled in the breakfast table looking lovingly at their children. And it scared Brittany how much she wanted it to be true. And like with any thought pertaining to her sister's wife, guilt consumed her, haunting Brittany to her very core.

So really, it was only beneficial for Brittany to leave, there was no way of looking about it another way. But seeing the agony on the woman's face—the crumpling of her forehead, the tear marks on her cheeks, the crinkle on her nose and chin, and the quivering of her lips. Hearing the tiny whimpers and pleas escaping her full lips—pleas for Quinn to come back and never leave her—the quiet sobbing and sniffling, Brittany had to have a heart made of titanium to not feel anything for the woman other than compassion.

And then she woke up, looking at her children lovingly, talking to Brittany as if she's not going through anything, taking care of her children as if it was just any ordinary day. Brittany realized just how _deep_ the other woman was taking her sister's passing. How much she was hiding inside herself for the sake of her two children. But at some point, Brittany knew that the Latina wouldn't be able to hold it all inside her chest until she breaks and the blonde didn't want to think of what would happen to her, and lady princess, and the little man. Suddenly, her own dilemma paled in comparison to what Santana was going through. And just as suddenly, Brittany realized why she _cannot_ turn her back on her—on them—even if she wanted to.

Brittany didn't even question _why_ Quinn had chosen her out of everyone to look after Santana and her kids. The younger Pierce finally—fully—understood now that Quinn just knew that her wife needed someone now that she can't be there for her.

"Hey sis," Brittany smiled sadly at the carved name on the headstone. "It's been a long time, isn't it? I wish I could have taken a picture of your bald head. You probably rocked that shit too. You always did—whether you had long, short, pink, brown hair—still girls and boys swoon at your feet," Brittany laughed sadly before it died down. "I should know, you somehow conned the most beautiful girl into marrying you."

Brittany closed her eyes and sighed deeply, collecting a lungful of fresh, cold air before releasing it slowly. Blue eyes opened and with them, hot tears suddenly streamed down ghostly, cold cheeks. "Don't worry about them, Q. I got your back," Brittany tried to even her voice with no success but she continued on, pushing forth despite the harsh waves of emotion surging through her entire body, knocking her to her knees down to the wet muddy, soil. "Just as long as you got mine."

The wind picked up, the moon shining the sole witness to the tall blonde breaking down for the first time.

xox

* * *

A/N #2: It's hard to stick with one POV without getting tempted to cross over once in a while. LOL I hope I'm more successful in this chapter unlike in my previous ones. I'm sorry if this chapter is too heavy and serious and boring but it needs to be done and it can't be helped. But next chapter would be much better, I promise—after all, it's just day one. I'll make sure to include some much needed Brittana fluff. ;) **So don't forget to R&R! :)**


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